


wish on the star

by enkiduu



Category: The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, M/M, Magic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-08
Updated: 2019-06-08
Packaged: 2020-04-23 03:48:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 25,408
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19142938
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/enkiduu/pseuds/enkiduu
Summary: Magic was unraveling in the world. The only way to save it seemed to be the unlikely duo of Tony Stark, who was the best at runework and staying alive, and the Howling Knight, summoned from the past and not quite dead.





	wish on the star

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sheron](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sheron/gifts).



_He tries to brush the snow off him but it doesn’t leave. The ice prickles, stings like it’s beneath his skin. The snowstorm howls._

_Shadows drape on him. He’s lost. Where did he come from? Where is he going?_

_It’s so cold._

_He wonders if he is made of snow._

***

“How’s Barton?” Fury asks when Natasha drops through the shimmering blue portal onto her feet, landing in the underground room.

“Still recovering,” Natasha says. “He’s healed up enough to tell us to kick ass.” 

Fury chuckles. “That’s Barton for you,” he says. 

Yeah. Clint is going to be just fine. It’s the world that needs to catch up with the healing. “The memory lift came back. We pieced together the scene from what pieces he can remember. Ser, we’re going to need someone who can deal with a really high level of magic,” Natasha says. “And knows how to deal with this.”

Fury frowns, moving beside Natasha so he can see the greyed parchment Natasha unfurls. Fury looks like he has a headache. “Damn,” he says. “Is it too much to hope that it’s a known one?”

“I got no hits on this rune,” Natasha says, careful to not touch the drawn rune. Even though it’s supposed to be inert, with no mana imbued into it, it still might react to the mana that flows under skin. Runes aren’t meant for human use. “It’s completely new.” 

“Coulson is gonna love this,” Fury sighs. “The Howling Knight can deal with the magic.” Natasha wonders how many layers of headache one can get, because Fury’s probably going to break his own record. The Knight is not going to be easy to summon and sustain. “He can get Tony Stark to deal with the runework.”

“Ser,” Hill says.

“Ser,” Natasha echoes, tightening her jaw. Unsurprised, because Fury’s had a soft spot for Stark for a while, but the Knight? She doesn’t question Fury often, not directly, because she’s had a lifetime of fighting SHIELD already. She only runs the occasional recon op behind his back when he turns to his blind side, and in return Natasha closes her eyes when Fury asks for Natasha’s infiltration and secret-keeping magic. 

But the shield is something they can’t know for sure is reliable, or even possible to use—it’s been fractured, and no amount of repairment efforts proved successful. She’s had a lifetime of knowing how reliable summons naturally can’t be. Plus, Natasha doesn’t trust its source. 

“We’ve used summons like this,” Fury says, reaching up to take off his eyepatch. “You hesitant, Natasha?” 

“There hasn’t been summons like this,” Natasha points out quietly. “Not for years. And not the Captain for nearly a century.” 

Fury looks at Natasha, looking considering, but she knows what he’ll say already. “If I didn't know you, I’d say you were scared, agent.” 

Natasha looks straight back at him and arches an eyebrow. “If I didn’t know you, I’d say you were desperate, ser.” 

“If it is what I think it is,” Fury says, “the world needs to work on a little bit of faith.”

It’s working a little too well on that right now, Natasha thinks. There are creatures from children’s tales sighted around Midgard, and attacks that shouldn’t be possible by extinct monsters. Nothing concrete has been caught, they all vanish like summons that were never there, but the wounds they leave are definitely real. The fear they leave is very real. 

Whatever magic is at work here, it’s indiscriminately destructive. 

“And if this fails?” Natasha asks. 

“Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that.” 

Fury takes out the crystal he keeps behind his eyepatch. So that’s what it is for. Natasha had wondered. “Wake up, Captain,” he says, activating the crystal to summon a shield. _The_ shield. 

He summons the Knight Captain, in all his legendary dragon scale armor, a deep blue with red crystals sunken in the design. Natasha feels the mana inside her wane in the Captain’s presence, as if it’s being drawn out to another place. She tenses, sincerely hoping the Captain is as kind and heroic as Coulson always wanted to believe. Coulson’s going to be really disappointed he’s missing this. 

The Captain opens his incredibly blue eyes with a deep, rumbly sigh.

***

Steve looks around, sees the summoning circle he expects, his shield in front of him. He picks it up, stares at the slight crack on the side. He doesn’t know why he expected to wake up and see it gone. He covers the fissure with a glove and raises his head.

A man, two women. The dark-haired woman isn’t a magic-user, but seems just as comfortable in this space as the others. They’re in some sort of containment room, dim, with no windows. Sometimes, the summon is shown to the world. This here is a secret.

“We’re SHIELD. I’m the Director, Nick Fury,” the one-eyed man begins to say. Nick Fury. Steve knows—this is the man who’s signed the contract. His hand is still bloody. Steve knows what his intentions when signing the contract were. He wonders what Fury will tell him if Steve asks. That’s generally more important. “This is Agent Maria Hill and Natasha Romanoff,” he says, giving Steve all three of their names honestly. Usually names aren’t given so easily, Steve supposes Fury knows to not lie about that to the Captain. 

“So you’re the spy circle,” Steve says, mildly surprised by the name, considering his own shield. He doesn’t show it, keeps an inexpressive face. 

“We’re going for something more family friendly these days,” Fury says. “We prefer law enforcement agency.” 

“Why have you summoned me? What trouble has Midgard gotten itself in this time?”

“No, Captain. It isn’t Midgard this time,” Fury says. “The entire world is in danger. And we need your help to stop the world from ending.”

Steve tilts his head, smiling a little despite his weariness. The world always is ending. Every single time he is summoned, people tell him there’s a world-ending risk running around (except for that one time a few centuries ago when he was summoned by accident to clean up a mercenary’s room, and he’s still bemused by that). 

Well, as far as he can tell from the contract that’s burned into his soul, Fury truly believes summoning Steve is the best option they have for the entire world. Steve can accept that. The few times he’s been in the wrong hands and not wanted to accept the contracts’ terms… they have not been easy. Thankfully, he’s always able to maneuver between loopholes. Not all summons have had that option. 

“What can I do?” he asks. 

The red-haired woman—Natasha Romanoff—steps up, holds out a small bit of parchment. She shows it to Steve. Steve examines it, frowning. It looks like a rune. One Steve knows he hasn’t seen before, even though it’s slightly familiar in the way it loops, circles crossing circles. It looks Asgardian, Steve thinks. He should visit Thor. Hopefully Thor is ruling now and not dead from Loki’s ruses. 

“This is the rune an agent of ours found when he went to investigate anomalies,” Romanoff says. 

“What sort of anomalies?

“Magic that breaks the laws of magic. Monsters are appearing out of nowhere.” 

That’s alarming. If it’s true that no spells are cast but wrathful monsters are appearing, something is happening. “Where is the origin? Are the other realms affected?”

“We don’t know where. We’ve contacted Asgard, they say they’re experiencing very mild, but similar, occurrences.” 

“Why resort to summoning a Knight, Ser Fury?” Steve asks. “Are humans playing with runes again?” 

“SHIELD takes great measures to ensure the safety of Midgard,” Fury answers without hesitation. “And, by extension, the entire world.” That’s not a denial. 

“There usually isn’t such an extension,” Steve comments. He steps out of the summoning circle, the orange lines falling down to the ground, losing their magical shimmer and shifting back into the red of blood. 

The tension in the room is palpable. He can practically hear them wondering if they should’ve set up more counter wards for the Captain, in case the summon backfires and the contract isn’t as unbreakable and reliable as they think it is.

It’s more unbreakable than they think it is, but no. It’s not very reliable. Steve knows that much. 

“Well, we strive to break records every day, Captain. Make the impossible possible,” Fury says. “Make some possibles impossible.”

***

Natasha gives him Tony Stark’s location, which turns out to be an incredibly grand tower that has never known the word discreet in its life.

Tony Stark could’ve gone with keeping a safe pocket realm that no one could enter without permission, but he’s clearly disinterested. He’s capable of it, if SHIELD thinks he’s the best at runes in this era. 

Steve stares up in astonishment. He eyes the side of the tower, follows the sleek lines upwards. He’s willing to bet that Tony Stark is on the highest floor, where his name, _STARK_ , is for all to see. Steve doesn’t think he’ll be fond of working with this sorcerer much. Magic users usually keep their name to themselves. Names have power, after all. A man like Tony Stark, hanging his name up high for all to take? It’s bold. A very bold move. The future is always a strange place, but Steve feels like he’s walked into an alternate dimension. 

Steve walks into the tower, unhindered, the wards slipping off him like water. The thing about a world dominated by sorcerers who think they can build whatever they want using magic is that they never expect someone like Steve, who is immune. 

The place shows all the wealth Steve is used to seeing (no, not used to, not really). It reminds Steve of the Faerie realm, when one of the Fae called upon Steve to defend herself. The Court was grand too, though in a different manner. It was all mysticism, flowers and candlelight, like walking in a dream. 

This isn’t a dream. If it is, it doesn’t feel like his.

***

He finds Tony Stark at the top of the tower, drawn in by a magic source that he can’t miss. It alarms him at first, reminding him of an ancient, detestable power, but he realizes quickly that he’s simply mistaken it for something else. There’s no door, just more invisible wards, layers upon layers. They’d securely stop anyone else Tony doesn’t want in.

Steve sets foot in what appears to be a workshop. It’s messy, an order that only the man who makes it can see. He pauses for a moment to get a sense of the place, expecting Tony to attack him on sight. They said he was impulsive, a risk to work with. 

Tony doesn’t throw any offensive spells at him. He doesn’t look particularly surprised by Steve’s appearance, which means his security must be better than he’d let Steve believe. 

“Ser Stark,” Steve greets, eyes trailing down fleetingly to the glowing circle in the center of the sorcerer’s chest, hidden behind a black shirt. The magic he felt, it was from there. He hasn’t felt such a strong magic signature in a long time, even if it’s from a device, and not a human. 

“You could’ve knocked,” Tony says. 

Not really. Steve didn’t want to knock down the entire building, which he probably could do if he wanted. All buildings have weaknesses. “There wasn’t a door,” Steve says. 

“And yet you entered anyway?” Tony asks, exasperated. “What are wards even for?” 

“This is an emergency,” Steve says. “I’m sorry about the interruption.” 

“The illegal trespassing, yes,” Tony says sharply. “I didn’t think they’d actually do it.” His dark eyes are incredibly bright, something the photos in his file couldn’t capture. They flicker over Steve’s armor, resting on his shield. “I mean, SHIELD uses power stupidly all the time, sure, but I didn’t think Fury was this desperate.” 

Steve doesn’t like the sneer in Tony’s voice. It seems to run in the family, but Steve has never experienced it directed at him. “I’m summoned when I’m needed.” 

“Right.” His gaze sweeps over Steve. “So you admit that soul contracting is just glorified slavery.” 

Steve resists a scowl. Tony isn’t wrong. “I chose to be a Knight,” he says, willing patience to return to him. It’s nothing he hasn’t heard before. When he fought the Hydra cult, there was never a moment when they ceased to point out the hypocrisy of being the Knight summon who didn’t believe in summoning. 

Steve is supposed to work with him. With so much on the line, it doesn’t really matter what Tony Stark thinks Steve believes in. 

“Some choice that was. You can't break the contract,” Tony continues, not letting it go, like he’s trying to prove a point, just trying to be right. 

Steve had been warned, but he still expected something better from Tony Stark. Howard had been very different from this. Howard didn’t think the contract was much of a problem. “As long as I’m needed,” Steve says, “I see no reason to.” 

“And that’s the problem.” Tony rolls his eyes. “Pretty, but mindless,” he mutters, then grins at him, saccharine. “Whatever—it’s your soul, your sale.” 

Steve bristles, gripping his shield more tightly, then tries to rein in on his annoyance. “You know, your father summoned me before,” he says. War hasn’t stopped, he wishes it had, but it never does. People always find something to fight over, and Tony Stark seems to be very good at that. “Did he not teach you about contracting?” 

Tony Stark’s lips twitch into a mocking smile and he laughs. “Oh, no. Sure, contracting with a soul trapped from the past, giving them time from your life to lengthen theirs. Blood magic,” he says bluntly, as if it’s not taboo these days. “They don’t call it that, obviously, not when SHIELD uses it. Fury’s all about what looks nice on a brochure. But that’s still what it is.” 

“You,” Steve says, “have no idea.” 

An eyebrow raises. “Are you saying Howard taught me wrong? I believe that, Captain. He taught me a lot of things,” he drawls, looking at Steve with distaste. “I’ve started to learn how wrong he was. So, why are you here?”

Steve pauses, looking at him. It could be informative to hear what Tony thinks he is here for. “You know why,” he says simply. 

Tony smiles indolently, and his smiles are really starting to grate on Steve’s nerves. “If that’s you fishing for what I know, sorry sweetheart. Doesn’t work on me,” he says. “So tell me, please. What do I know?”

Well, there goes that. Tony is more tight-lipped than he seems. “Do you want me to appeal to your sense of heroism?” Steve asks. He looks at what Stark is working on, but the man seems to keep no schematics outside his mind. Steve doesn’t sense any secret-keeping seals, which had been everywhere in SHIELD’s underground quarters. 

“Oh, gosh, Cap! Thank you, but no, I never said I was a hero. It’s the little tweeting birds that say it these days,” Tony says. “There, humility. Should I practice it more? Hm. Really doesn’t suit me well, does it. Well, be my witness, J. I tried.” 

The machination in his ear shimmers red, magic pulsing throughout the pieces of armor that Tony is wearing.

“Yes, ser,” comes a polite voice. 

Steve blinks, surprised at the sense of life he feels. That’s what was strange. The suit feels like it has something sentient running it, but not with something quite like human mana. 

“Your armor is possessed?” Steve asks.

“Uh, what? No,” Tony says, sounding offended. “JARVIS is not some wandering spirit. Don’t be rude.” 

Steve drops it. It’s not something he’s interested in discussing with Tony. All Tony seems to want to do is fight. “Do you think you are a hero, flying around and dealing with conflict like a rogue?” 

“I run an entire company,” Tony says. “Well, sort of. Point is, I’m not a rogue. I had all the paperwork done—thanks Pep—I’m Iron Man, got it? Time’s ticking, life’s slipping, Cap. Try something else.” 

“Maybe I shouldn’t. You seem to be fine with watching as the world falls apart,” Steve says, lips curling up coldly. “You have the perfect view from up here.”

Tony’s eyes flash. “Wow, breaking news, Tony Stark doesn’t have a heart. That’s really old news, Captain, you can rehash it with someone who cares,” he says. “See, the world’s always falling apart. It’s why you have a job. Except you, you don’t even get paid.”

“You’re only in it for the money, then,” Steve says flatly. He’s known people like Tony. 

“Said like a man who has no idea what gold can buy,” Tony says, as if he knows exactly the sort of person Steve is. 

He doesn’t. He couldn’t. “You’re Howard’s legacy?” 

“Legacy,” Tony says, and grins, all teeth. “Yes. What a legacy, Cap. SHIELD ensures that the world stays broken, you know. You shouldn’t be so quick to idealize anyone.” 

This is a waste of time. Steve unclenches his fists. He is contracted to focus on ridding the disturbances, on finding and dispelling the mysterious rune. He is not here to fight someone who seems to have been fighting the world since he was born. 

Being born into war is not an excuse to start one. 

“Midgard needs your help, Stark,” Steve says. 

“Wow.” Tony looks amused. “Well, if Midgard needs my help, then Midgard is really in deep shit. How’d SHIELD mess up so badly _without_ me? Should I be offended? Is Strange too busy making deals with demons to fight back demon incursions this time of year?” 

That’s an oversimplification of what the Sorcerer Supreme does, and yet, it’s fairly accurate at the same time. Steve respected the Ancient One, but she definitely has had her fair share of lies of omission. Steve understands that. Sometimes, people prefer the history that’s a lie, the methods that are the same but are called something that sounds nicer. 

He doesn’t agree. 

(Has even the Ancient One left this plane…) 

“Why does the great Captain of the Howling Knights need me? No one’s died. No casualties, the numbers are looking good.” Tony’s voice turns mocking, and Steve hates the way Tony reduces life to numbers. 

Steve feels cold, like the words have swept upon him a gust of wind. The Howling Knights… As the Captain of the Howling Knights, Steve has _always_ needed other people. His team. He wasn’t supposed to be the only Knight summon created that... succeeded.

There are so many things that Steve wants to say, but they are not what other people want to hear. They only want to hear what the Captain has to offer. The time the Captain gets from the contracts is not for Steve. 

“They say you’re the best there is at runes,” Steve says. Unlike Tony Stark, Steve can swallow his anger and pride for the sake of others. 

Tony splays his hand, the metal spreading and covering his skin smoothly, like liquid. It glints red, lined by gold. “Y’know, I may have let you in here, but you’re not going to leave with anything,” Tony says lightly. The air buzzes with energy, threatening. “Just because you’re immune to magic doesn’t mean you’re immune to weaponized runes.”

That is not entirely true. “I thought you said you don’t make weapons anymore,” Steve says. 

Tony laughs. “No one believes that.” 

That is likely very true. Steve doubted it, too. He scans the room. The suits. Iron Man, Tony calls himself. He looks at Tony. “I think the problem is you don’t believe it,” Steve says. “The only person who needs to believe it for it to be true is you.” 

Tony stares at Steve for a moment, then shoots him a scowl. “Incredible,” he says. “You know what, SHIELD can fix this rift by themselves. They probably made it in the first place.” 

“It wasn’t SHIELD,” Steve says. Tony looks very doubtful. “Not this time, at least. I can assure you that.” 

“Really, what, you can do psychic readings now? What’s your Word worth to me?” Tony asks. “Aren’t you supposed to be all counter-magic?” 

Steve takes out the scrap of parchment. He moves to hand it over, but Stark just leaves him hanging with a frown. “Can you read this?” Steve asks. 

“Read? Captain, I make—” Tony breaks off, blinking slowly at the rune etched on the parchment. 

“The eyewitness saw pieces of it before everything stopped working properly in Midgard. This is what they have put together.” 

“Well,” he says. “This is worse than I thought.”

Steve knows this is a bad situation. He wouldn’t have been summoned otherwise. It takes a lot of energy to summon a Knight. 

As much as Steve wants to be out fighting the monsters they say are appearing out of nowhere, wants to go dispel the curses that are somehow flung left and right, he can’t, he’s confined to complete this one mission as efficiently as possible. 

“I mean, I thought it was just your run-of-the-mill apocalyptic scenario,” Tony says. He sounds interested now. “There’s a reality rift.”

That’s about all Tony says. “What does that mean?” Steve asks. He has always specialized in counter-magic, but magic has changed over the years. It’s gotten a lot more volatile, he thinks. Dangerous. Iron Man hasn’t done anything dangerous in particular to serve as a real threat, not in the grand scheme of things, but… 

“Aren’t you supposed to know?” Tony asks, raising his eyebrows. “Howling Knight of ye olde days, taking down evil sorcerers left and right. Back when magic wasn’t accepted, huh.” 

“I haven’t been summoned in a while. Magic has fundamentally changed,” he says coldly. “I understand that the last rune war didn’t end very well.” 

“I’m going to elect to ignore that. Never did like history class,” Tony says. “Magic is being pulled apart by its seams, and when that happens—it used to be an if, by the way—the code in the universe is breaking.” He draws in the air off-handedly, the metal of his glove expanding to cover his entire arm. He conjures up a red glimmer—an identical copy of the rune, that’s not supposed to be this easy to draw, Steve watches in silent amazement—but Tony isn’t stupid enough to set it. “As much as I hate to say it, we’re going to need more help on this. I was going to leave this to Strange, but he doesn’t deal with the creation or alteration of runes, he just reads them.” 

“Who’s doing the pulling apart?” Steve asks, watching Tony examine the rune thoughtfully. “It’s not SHIELD.” 

Tony looks surprised. “Okay, really, you would know that, how? You literally just woke up. Your armor, the adaptable dragon scale as it may be, doesn’t match the magic decay of this time yet.” 

Most of the time, people take what Steve says as truth. “I can tell if the summoner has ill intent,” he says. 

“Huh. Alright.” Tony makes a face. “You’re right, you know. The rune war really did mess magic up. It’s so dangerous now.” 

“Magic always was dangerous,” Steve says. 

“Well, no need to generalize like that. I’m pretty sure the kids who make spoons bend aren’t dangerous.” 

“Glad to hear spoons haven’t changed in their use,” Steve says. 

Tony raises his eyebrows at Steve, then looks back at the rune. “Could be _edda_ in nature... Weird. The tree didn’t foretell this, and the tree is a control freak. Funny that Loki should say that, honestly. I guess I’m bumping up my vacation to Asgard to earlier.” 

The future works a lot faster than the past, every single time. There’s something very transient about life, Steve thinks. He sees Howard in Tony Stark, but Howard is long gone, just like all of the other acquaintances Steve has made over the centuries. So much time passes, but he never has the time. 

“It won’t be much of a vacation,” Steve says. “Magic isn’t working as it should. It’s happening when it shouldn’t, when nothing is visibly cast. We have to contain it.”

Steve has his suspicions. He really hopes he is wrong. 

“Maybe I like a little spice to my vacations, Captain Obvious.” Tony’s eyes dart back down to the shield. “You wouldn’t happen to be willing to let me borrow that, would you? The magic-absorbent vibranium should be helpful.” 

Steve is amazed that Tony even asks that. Even if he doesn’t know all of it, he should know the importance of Steve’s summon artifact. It’s where his soul is bound. “No. It’s not yours.”

Tony twitches. “Alright, fine. Well, I’m headed to Asgard to find out what they know there. You can stay put somewhere. Don’t get lost, Dorothy.”

“I’m coming with you to Asgard,” Steve says. 

“No you’re not,” Tony says. Steve arches an eyebrow at him. Tony frowns. “You’re not,” he repeats.

Steve examines Tony‘s suit. It’s the first time Steve has felt underdressed, even in his own Knight armor. Steve feels like a relic, a memory, whereas Stark’s suit is all bright red and gold and something that’s all about the now. 

Then again, he doesn’t feel like Iron Man is a commonplace look either. It looks vaguely out of this time. Too shiny. Too bright. 

“It’ll take both of us to deal with that rune. You know it,” Steve says. “Or was that an order to a slave?” he asks, echoing Stark’s previous sentiment. 

Stark looks like he doesn’t know how to react to that, a slight widening of the eyes, stare blank. He ends up just laughing, a bark of wry amusement. “No,” he says. “I’m starting to think maybe you don’t take orders so well, Cap.”

***

Asgard’s royal palace is just as golden as Steve remembers. It’s a shining contrast to all the mountains and lakes on the side. He’s been here a few times over the centuries, there’s a reason Asgard is so fond of Midgard.

Thor’s grin splits his face when Steve and Tony enter the room. Steve moves to receive Thor’s hug and laugh. “Captain, it’s been a long time! How do you fare?” Thor asks.

“You know not much time has passed for me since we met,” Steve says. Thor looks older, he notices. More experienced. He seems to have grown a lot over the past century. That his genuineness remains strong makes Steve smile. “It’s been a few months for me, and you’re king now.” 

Thor lifts his head up, glances at the throne behind him. “Ah, I am! Yes. The throne is treating me well. Thanks to Asgard’s people.” He smiles and looks to Tony. “Man of Iron! You have upgraded your iron.” 

“Yeaaah, it’s still not iron, Thor,” Tony says. “I’m not looking to fight anyone who forges with iron, that’d be unfair to them. But we’re not fighting faeries these days. I’m not even financially partnered with the fae, there’s literally no connection, why would I use iron?” 

Thor laughs, bringing Tony in for a hug as well. He claps him on the back of his suit, more gently than he did Steve. “I am glad to see you are faring alright, Anthony.” 

Steve looks at Tony curiously. Tony’s eyes, completely neutral, flicker over to meet his gaze fleetingly.

“Why wouldn’t I be faring alright?” Tony asks, patting Thor’s hand lightly. “That’s rhetorical, don’t answer, I'm sure you gods are too busy to answer rhetorical questions. I’m here for something else.” 

“I am well aware. You already informed us you would be coming,” Thor says. “Did you figure out what you needed, Man of Iron?” 

“Yes. Hate to admit it,” Tony says, admitting it anyway, Steve notices, “but the Captain brought something useful.” 

He didn’t know that Tony would be coming whether Steve showed up at his door or not. Steve glances at Tony, who doesn’t spare him a glance back whatsoever. It seems like Tony Stark cares more about this than he let on. 

“When Heimdall told me the good Captain was on the way as well, I was delighted.” Thor smiles reassuringly. “Worry not. We are not weak like Midgard’s genies. We do not share the same limits.” 

“Oh good,” Tony says, “sure, remind us of those incompetent wish-warping genies, from Midgard, why don’t you. Thanks Thor.”

“I am happy to help, my friend! I will join you shortly in the library,” Thor says, guiding the towards a tall corridor. He beams at them both. “I fear this isn’t something I can help you with, but I know who can.”

***

The library is as grand as Steve remembers, some books glittering and new, others foxed and ancient, all safe in towering oak bookshelves. The sheer amount of controlled security measures here is impressive. Steve raises his hand against the sunlight that streams in from the dome of colorfully tinted window art in the ceiling. His hand looks translucent, for a moment. The artwork shimmers through, characters moving fluidly, a promise of harmony and a hopeful future.

A captured history. Steve remembers attending those first festivals, with Loki and Thor. He’s surprised to see Loki still remains in their glorified history, what with his betrayal the last time Steve was lent to Asgard. 

Steve finds himself missing the Asgardian mead. Everyone else always goes for the golden apples, but… 

A loud voice jerks Steve back to the present. 

“Knock knock. You daydreaming there?” Tony drawls. “I don’t think dreaming is going to help anyone.” 

Tony is right, so there is no reason for Steve to feel defensive. And yet, anger simmers inside him, unbidden, Tony able to effortlessly draw it out even when Steve isn’t using it as a weapon (as a shield). Steve takes a breath, calms himself, and is glad that unlike most sorcerers, he has no magic signature that he needs to mask. His ability to drain magic is more touch-dependent, and does not reveal any emotional fluctuations. 

“You’ve been here before though, right?” Tony asks. “You were here when the library went up in flames. What’s that like?” 

“Yes,” Steve says, surprised by the tone. The fire wasn’t a long time ago, not in his memory, but people always treat what happened to him like some ancient, glorious history. And not just a casual experience, like Tony could be asking anybody else that too. “They’ve done some… remodeling,” he adds, delicately. You never know who’s got a spell in the walls.

“Remodeling.” Tony looks amused. “Knights go for diplomacy?” 

“Only when stabbing with a sword would get me banished from about seven realms, yes,” Steve says. 

“Really now. What’s with the other two not getting in on some hot banishment action?” 

“They would say it’s well-deserved,” Steve says. “And then I’d have to disappoint them by confessing it was due to the interior decoration, and not the politics.” 

“Oh, stop, don't remind me,” Tony says, raising a hand. “Thor has strange designer aspirations. Nobody encourage him. He thinks he can be whatever he wants.” 

“Thor does not think that,” Steve says. “He is a good king.” 

Tony makes a face. “I almost thought you were going to go with it. Humor, Cap. Look it up, I’m sure there’s a dictionary here somewhere.” He squints and looks around, performative like a lot of things he does. 

Steve feels awkward, but he can’t let Tony see that. “Respect isn’t a joke,” he says, trying to maintain his usual cool composure, unaffected, like the memorial statues of the Captain. 

“Hm, weird,” Tony says. “I don’t think disrespect is what’s pissing you off here.”

Tony has a point, but Steve doesn’t want to dwell on it. It’s not that he doesn’t appreciate humor, but it’s unfamiliar, rusted. The silence between them is tense, until Steve, surprising even himself, is the one who breaks it by saying, “There are at least two dictionaries. Let’s not be critical of Asgardian scholars now.” 

Tony looks at him, then makes a sound that’s almost like actual laughter. “Don’t worry, I’ll extend my criticism to the late king. You know, I was banned from using any spells on the book contents. Which somehow included using spells to skim _history books._ What does that say about their books?” 

“What does that say about you?” Steve asks, amused. “Did you steal a secret?” 

“No,” Tony says. “Why would I ever need to steal anything? I’d just figure it out myself.” 

“Alright,” Steve says. “Did you steal one to see if you could?” 

Tony huffs, lips twitching up. Amusement looks much better on him than bitter wariness, which Steve knows wears a person down. “Odin was kind of a dick, I’ll have you know.” 

Steve coughs, but doesn’t deny it. “That’s the All-Father you’re talking about,” he says, tapping below one eye. “He can supposedly see us, even from Valhalla.”

“One, he's not exactly going to waste time haunting me. Two, aw, is the Captain scandalized?” Tony smirks, conspiratorial. “Don’t worry, I’ve said it to his face before.” 

“Nevermind being banned from the books,” Steve says dryly. It feels odd, having a smile to even suppress. “How are you not banned from the entirety of Asgard?”

“I’m friends with the royal family, duh,” Tony says. “Also, I helped save Asgard that one time, which scores me some brownie points.”

Steve tilts his head, pretending to look thoughtful. “You never know with Asgardians,” he says.

“Jeez, you’re right,” Tony says, raising his eyebrows. Curious. That’s what that expression is. “But I don’t think Odin can hate me more now that he’s dead, so I think I’m safe.”

Steve stifles a laugh. “You never know with the dead.”

***

They sit in the Asgardian library for some time. Steve watches Tony read through books, flipping through them rapidly. Steve wonders if there’s a specific tome Tony is looking for, but he doesn’t ask. It’s not his business. Occasionally, Tony will throw a random comment out into the open, as if wanting to see if Steve will catch it and reply, which Steve does. He figures there’s no harm in getting to know the person he’s working with better.

When a puff of glittery green shows before them, Steve is instantly alert, reaching to his back to grab his shield. He recognizes that particular shade, that signature that feels like ice. It’s always unsettled Steve. There’s so much cold in between his summons. 

Right now, Steve holds onto that glacial feeling, lets it build inside, unyielding to any magic Loki may cast.

The shield spins towards the shadow that’s forming person. Loki dodges the shield and its arc back into Steve’s hand as well. He glares at Steve, tilting his head down. “You,” he says, voice low and menacing. “Captain. You’re not supposed to be here. Shall I remedy that?” He grins sharply, spinning a dagger in his hand. 

“Loki,” Tony says, sounding alarmingly fond in his exasperation. “Stop messing with the Captain.”

Loki narrows his eyes at Tony, then sighs. “Anthony.” Loki smiles again. It’s a considerably less crazed smile than the one he always wears before lancing magic missiles towards Steve. “Did you already reserve that privilege?” 

“I’m all for pranking the Captain, especially when it’s not my castle that’s being damaged,” Tony says, “but sadly there’s more we have to do right now.”

“You did not mention in your call that you would be arriving with a relic in tow,” Loki says. “At this time of year, Asgard isn’t taking any relics as tribute, but thank you.”

Relic? “Says Loki, the God of Mischief and Lies,” Steve says. “We’re the same age.” 

Loki scoffs. “Hardly. You’re young but ancient. You don’t really belong to _this_ age, Captain.” 

“Hey, play nice,” Tony says. “Or maybe don’t. I do want to see the Captain’s hair dyed pink.” 

Steve glances at Tony, surprised that Tony is jumping to defend him. Somewhat. Considering the other man’s demeanor so far, this seems to count as defending him. Steve smiles, just a little. “Asgard’s royal family is more together than I remember,” he says, looking back at Loki.

“Perish that thought. I’m planning a coup as we speak,” Loki informs him. 

“Well, it’s not that Asgard is only feasts and dances now,” Tony says. “Not that they don’t have those, but there’s more to this place than conquest.” He arches an eyebrow. “Though we all doubt it sometimes. Thor does good.” 

“Fantastic,” says Loki, then sighs, looking behind Tony and Steve. “Here comes the thunder.” 

Tony seems to trust Loki, which Steve does not understand. “Last we met, Loki tried to stab me,” Steve says, which earns a look of displeasure from Tony. 

“People change,” Tony says. 

“Sometimes,” Steve says.

Tony blinks, surprised (what kind of person does he think Steve is and why?), and looks like he wants to say more, but Thor cuts in.

“Oh, good Captain. It’s nothing bad,” Thor says, sounding pleased. “He shows affection in such a manner. I myself have been stabbed thirty-seven times.”

“Do shut up or it’ll be thirty-eight,” Loki says. “Anthony, I examined the scans you sent me.”

“The rune looks Asgardian, doesn’t it?” Tony asks. “Like old Wish magic. The unreliable monkey’s paw strikes again.”

“Not precisely,” Loki says, a hint of something Steve has never heard in his voice, but it makes the entire room’s signature darken. “It is the other way around. Asgardian runes look like this one.”

“Oh, no, brother,” Thor says, dismayed. “That is not good news.” 

“No kidding,” Tony agrees. “So, what’s not good news?” 

Steve’s lips curl down. He was right. “Whoever controls the Aether, controls reality,” he says. 

Loki frowns at him. “You are correct. The Aether. I do suppose you would know, Captain.”

“An Infinity Stone,” Steve says quietly. “The Aether is the liquefied form of the Reality Stone.” 

“You have got to be joking,” Tony says, jaw dropping. “Tell me this is some new brand of joking. They haven’t appeared in a thousand years. They aren’t supposed to exist.” 

Not supposed to exist. Isn’t that right? 

“The Aether bends reality. It is nigh unstoppable when imbued in runes. It is said to make them capable of breaking the laws of magic,” Loki says. 

“Such as the one that magic must have a caster, and that there must be a cost,” Steve finishes for Loki. The others look at him. Steve shrugs. “It explains the random disturbances.” 

“It does,” Tony agrees slowly, then claps his hands. “Well, thanks Loki, Thor. Guess it’s time to disband.”

“I suppose my coup will have to be delayed. Yet again,” Loki sighs. 

“We will keep looking for methods of containment,” Thor says gravely. “Good luck finding where the Aether was used, Man of Iron. Captain.” 

After they exit the palace, Tony says, “Well, nice knowing you, Cap, but I guess this is where it ends.” 

Steve catches Tony’s arm before Tony can turn and walk away. He feels an odd tingle down his own arm, like a faint zap of magic, but he doesn’t let go. 

Tony glares down at his hand, but doesn’t blast Steve away, which Steve considers good enough. “What?” 

“You’re not going to give up,” Steve says.

“Pretty sure that was one of the options you gave me,” Tony drawls, eyes narrowed. “Watch as the world breaks down, remember?” 

“That’s not an option you would take,” Steve hazards a guess, and by the way Tony widens his eyes, he thinks he’s right. “You know a way to find the Aether, don’t you?” 

“Why would I tell you,” Tony says. 

“We can fix this, Tony. Together.” 

“I can do it myself.” 

Steve opens his mouth, then closes it. Thinks. Fury wants them to work together for a reason. Steve isn’t as adverse to the idea as he was before. “Yes, you could,” Steve says. “But you don’t have to.”

“Fine, okay,” Tony finally relents. “But you’re not telling SHIELD about where we’re going.” 

“I give you my Word,” Steve says. 

“Don’t think that means much when you’re immune to that kind of binding oath, Cap,” Tony says. 

Steve feels disappointed that Tony seems to be just like everyone else, after all, not seeing Steve as trustworthy because he’s magic-immune, as if people always needed to give their Word to keep a promise. 

...Maybe he’s a little different, though. Tony says what he says, but brings Steve along anyway.

***

“Bruce!” Tony says, openly friendly as they walk into the quaint pocket realm. It’s like one of those old cottages Steve loved visiting in the summers with his mother, homey with a soft ambience.

Steve watches Tony walk up to the man, exchanging words. Bruce Banner. His signature is full of agitation, like a sorcerer in constant, murky battle. 

Then, Bruce looks towards Steve, turning uncomfortable as his eyes take in Steve’s armor. “Uh. Tony, that’s… that’s dragon scale.”

“Right, yes. You know about the Captain,” Tony says. He doesn’t look at Steve when he adds, “Captain, meet Bruce Banner. He’s one of the many people who have tried reinventing your particular brand of antimagic powers.” 

“Tony, if you’re trying to prove a point with me…” Bruce trails off. 

Tony pouts. Steve is not imagining it, Tony Stark is actually pouting right now, and Steve wants to feel irritated, but the irritation evaporates when he realizes Bruce appreciates Tony’s blunt casualness towards what must’ve been a terrible experience. Steve is conflicted, unsure how to feel, uncertain why there’s a bloom of warmth inside his chest. Bruce is dangerous. Maybe not like Loki is, but Bruce’s signature is unstable. 

Yet Tony seems to not care. And maybe it’s not arrogance that makes him poke at Bruce (or at Steve). 

“No, of course not. This is a totally social visit,” Tony tells Bruce.

If Tony possessed the shield, he would probably pointedly _not_ summon Steve, in order to prove a point.

“I’m not sure if that helps,” Bruce says, but he’s smiling fondly when he says it. “Last time you dropped by on a social visit…”

“That was one time. Or five, whatever, no need to be so precise.”

“Five explosions,” Bruce clarifies for Steve. 

Tony brightens at that. “Big explosions,” he adds for Steve. 

”I’m sure they were very colorful,” Steve says, slipping his shield away into his mental storage, the only sort of magic he can cast, a power granted to him by the shield. “Ser Banner, we’re actually here on important business.”

Bruce frowns at him, then directs it at Tony. 

“Speak for yourself,” Tony says, then turns to Bruce. “Bruce, hey, I’m here on important business.”

Bruce sighs. “And him?” he asks. 

“He’s here as SHIELD’s witness.” 

“SHIELD,” Bruce mutters, not looking happy. “SHIELD had the shield, Tony?” He sounds concerned. “Really?”

“Well,” Tony says casually. “It fits their name. I bet they’ve been after it since SHIELD’s conception.” 

“Yeah. I bet,” Bruce says.

Steve’s already gathered that Tony and SHIELD have history. They’ll just have to put aside whatever it is for the sake of their mission, of the future. “Let’s talk about the recent occurrences,” he says, stepping in. 

Bruce glances at Tony. “Magic gone haywire, yes,” he says slowly. 

Tony blinks at him, gives him a noncommittal shrug and nod. “It’s fine,” he says. “He isn’t so bad.” He sounds amused at that. Fond, like he appreciates it, which Steve did not expect. “Right, Cap? Not gonna recite this verbatim to SHIELD?”

“I’ll paraphrase,” Steve says. He almost feels like he’s going to blush, for some strange reason. He clears his throat. “No, I won’t mention this. You have nothing to worry about,” he tells Bruce, who sighs and waves them over to a table. 

Bruce looks over what Tony and Steve have gathered as information, “So you need to find out where this rune originates from,” he says.

They both nod. 

“Right. And you’re telling me you want me to track down an Infinity Stone. The ones that have been missing for millenia.” 

“They exist,” Steve says shortly. He knows how dangerous the stones are. How _wrong_ their existence is. “The stones aren’t supposed to be… harnessed. They’re not found for good reason.” 

“That’s right. You’ve seen them used. In the legends,” Bruce says. He sounds interested, curious, though he seems to restrain his curiosity, not asking for what he doesn’t think he should know anymore. “Tony has always—”

“Enough babble about me, Bruce. Can you get us a trace on the origin of the rune?” Tony interrupts. “We need a location.” 

Bruce raises his eyebrows at Tony, acquiesces. “Well, yes. It’ll take some time. Feel free to use the lab, I’ll let you two know when I’ve found a location.”

***

“You checking to see if I’m doing something villainous? Because I’m not, not recently.” Tony’s voice drifts over. It cuts the distance between them, sharp in the night. He doesn’t look back, and his tone isn’t as bitter as it could be. It’s fairly light, actually, and Steve thinks that’s probably worse that Tony doesn’t seem to mind that Steve might think him a villain.

“Summons don’t need to sleep,” Steve says, sure that Tony knows it. 

“Good for you,” Tony says, zapping something with his magic, a sharp jagged line of blue flashing around him. 

“How did you know I was here?” Steve asks. He’s not especially surprised, but he is curious (impressed). When he makes the effort to hide his presence, usually people don’t sense him. He doesn’t have a signature, after all, and there are no reflective surfaces from which Tony can see him. 

Tony tilts his head, glances back at Steve. The edge of his eye seems to glint, reflecting all the blue light that glows from his fingertips. “You’re not exactly lauded for your stealth,” he says, and he’s right. Steve was never the one known for his stealth skills. “Otherwise SHIELD would’ve used you a lot more.”

“SHIELD seems to have done fine without me,” Steve comments, thinking of the few he’d had the chance to meet. 

“Fine,” Tony says, scoffing.

“I’m usually summoned a lot more often.” There’s a question in his voice. Does Tony know why Steve hasn’t been summoned more? SHIELD wasn’t very clear on their history with Tony Stark, just that he’s an uncooperative asset, and that they’re hoping the Captain can make Tony more cooperative. 

Tony looks back to whatever he’s working on. Steve wonders what expression he’s making when he says, “Guess the world doesn’t need you as much anymore, huh, Cap?” 

Steve supposes he’s not wrong. He lets the quiet set in for a moment. He’s surprised Tony doesn’t break it, just lets his tinkering fill what otherwise would be the silence between them. Maybe Tony didn’t gravitate to magic because he had time to fill, but because magic is what he loves. 

Steve tries to remember why he chose to join the Knights. He wanted to save people, even though he knew even if he bled out, there wouldn’t have been a drop of mana in him. He wanted to prove something, anything. 

He’s not so sure if what he proved turned out to be true. “Guess the world needs people like you, now,” Steve says. 

Tony huffs out a laugh, sounding insincere. Steve is hit by the sudden desire to try and make Tony stop laughing like that. “Guess so.”

There’s no use dwelling on becoming obsolete, it always happens (except it didn’t, they always needed him, there was never such a big gap), but he’s not doing any fighting right now (or maybe there always is a gap like this, one that’s always growing). He’s waiting when he could be slaying monsters, protecting people. Doing what he’s meant to do.

What does Tony mean to do? He has the luxury of choice. “What are you crafting?” Steve asks. 

“Nothing you’d get,” Tony replies, so quickly it sounds automatical.

“Try me,” Steve says, undeterred. He’s always ready for a fight, but that doesn’t mean he’s not always ready to listen, too. 

“That,” Tony says, “was me being polite instead of saying fuck off. Trial version is over now, though, so fuck off. Go hibernate or whatever it is you do.”

“Hm,” Steve says. “Politeness has really changed over the years.” He smiles, a hint of sadness on his lips. “Is that why people try to steal your work?” He guesses this is part of why Tony doesn’t work on weapons anymore.

Tony stiffens. The light in his hands instantly dies, the sparks gone. The armor around his hands seem to emit a soft, fading glow, before they leave the two of them in complete darkness. He turns around to peer at Steve with narrowed eyes. “Now, how did you know that?” he asks. “I do hope Fury didn’t include dear me in your little contract. I can sue over a lot less.”

“Tell your lawyers I’m sorry,” Steve says, holding his hands up, smile fading into something much more solemn, serious. “You seemed to keep all your work in your head. When I was in your workshop.”

“That wasn’t my actual workshop. You think I’d have let you set foot in it that easily? But sure, yeah. People try,” Tony says, off-handedly. “Sometimes they succeed. Sometimes that doesn’t matter.”

“I give you my Word I won’t tell anyone what you’re working on,” Steve adds. “I swear on my shield.” 

Tony stares at him for another moment. Whatever Tony finds makes his lips twitch up, hostility clearing off his face, and now he just looks tired. Exhaustion covers him like a blanket now. “Sure, okay. Well, I look forward to having your shield,” he says, then huffs out a laugh. “Really, you wouldn’t be interested.” He conjures up some light and turns back around, gesturing for Steve to walk over. “It’s just something to help people without magic interact with the magic-driven world around them. Nothing that shouldn’t already exist.”

Steve looks at Tony, feeling a twinge of… something. “That’s good,” he says, even though the words make him feel awkward, because they’re true, but not enough to describe what Tony does. He wants Tony to hear them anyway. Tony should hear them. “I didn’t—I didn’t have magic, before. I was null.”

“Oh. Well, I don’t think you needed that summon magic to be a good knight. Magic isn’t enough to slay multi-headed hydras like you, Cap,” Tony says. “You’re a living legend.” The light in his hands dim a little. Tony’s eyes are glazed over in memory of something Steve wasn’t there to see, but Steve thinks he sees Tony better now.

“You don’t have to slay hydras like me,” Steve says. “I deal with things that make the world end. You ensure that the world doesn’t stop moving forward.”

“Even I can’t fix all the awful stagnation,” Tony says. “And not all change is good. Aren’t you supposed to be able to tell?”

“I—sometimes. Sometimes not.” 

Tony considers that. “Good to know you aren’t omnipotent on top of immortal,” he says. 

“Tony,” Steve says firmly, and notices how Tony tenses at the use of his name, eyes widening slightly, “you’re not responsible for fixing everything broken in the world.”

“They don’t agree with you,” Tony says, a person with the luxury of choice who chose to be driven by the need of others. What does Tony need? 

(What does Steve?) 

“I didn’t know you were one to believe what other people said so easily. What do you think?” Steve asks. 

“It’s funny of you to tell me that when your job is to fix what’s broken on call based on what other people tell you,” Tony says. 

Steve grits his teeth. He’s shown too much. “Go get some sleep. It’s late.”

Tony narrows his eyes, a familiar fight in his eyes. “I think you don’t like talking about yourself,” he says. “I think you haven’t answered a single question I’ve asked that’s about you. I think, _Steve_ ,” he says, then freezes. 

Tony’s gaze is bright enough that it burns through Steve. No one’s ever thought so much about Steve. 

“I think, Cap, you—you should get some shut-eye, not me.” 

It’s no wonder that Tony backs off. 

People think about the Captain all the time. They think about how the Captain saves the day, how the Captain is mysterious and strong. They see what the Captain is, what he can offer them. They don’t listen, never stop to think about the Captain’s why, much less talk to him about it. 

They never really do much talking, not outside of what they want from him. 

“You think a lot,” Steve says. He doesn’t want to fight, not now. Not with Tony, he realizes. 

(What is this?) 

“Well,” Tony says. If he’s flustered at all, he hides it well. “It’s kinda my job.”

“I don’t need to sleep,” Steve says, and he’s already told Tony this. He doesn’t know why Tony is insisting on hearing it again, or why his voice comes out hoarse. 

“But you can. Or,” Tony says lightly, like it’s not a shocking revelation, “or, maybe you can’t.” Steve expects another barb there. Instead, Tony offers, with no sense of expectation or judgment in his voice, “You want some sleeping draft? I’ve got some from Alfheim. It’s supposed to be the most effective. Smells good, too.”

Then why isn’t Tony sleeping? Steve wants to ask. Tony probably wouldn’t appreciate that question. If he wants, he must have other people to talk to, like Bruce. Steve isn’t here to make friends. 

He’s tried, before, and it’s never ended well. 

Surely, people ask Tony before they answer for him? 

People aren’t very good at that. Steve swallows. “I’ve slept nearly a century,” he says. “That’s more than enough.”

“Don’t you think it’d be nice to dream, though?” Tony asks. 

“Good night,” Steve says, turning away. 

It always feels like a dream. It’d be nice to wake up.

***

It takes two days before Bruce figures out where the location is. Tony seems to recognize the place by its topography.

By the looks of it, it’s not his vacation destination. Tony sounds like he never wants to go there again. 

“Sokovia,” Tony says, magic flaring for more than just a moment, radiating something very heavy. It’s clearer, now, no longer suppressed. Steve is more familiar with Tony, he recognizes it, can hardly believe he missed it before. Maybe Steve was trying to not see it. “Why is it Sokovia?” 

“What happened in Sokovia?” Steve asks. 

“It was a long time ago,” Tony says, lips thinning. He makes a motion with his hands. “Kaboom.” 

Steve looks at Tony. Steve can’t defend Tony here, not for what happened a long time ago, not for something Steve isn’t entirely sure about. It feels like nothing about Tony is really certain. “Tony—“ 

Tony flinches at the use of his name. Steve swallows the rest of his words. “Well, chop chop. No time to waste,” Tony says, armor shifting like liquid again, melting around his body, over his skin and clothes. He always has his armor ready to expand around him into a suit. 

Tony moves away from them, heading to the portal that will lead them back to where they came from. 

“I’m not going to tell them where you are,” Steve tells Bruce. Steve senses that Bruce, even though he doesn’t mention it, is bothered by Steve’s appearance. And not just by the fact that Steve was summoned by SHIELD. 

Trying to replicate Steve’s powers without knowing how it’s done doesn’t have good consequences. Steve hates that Bruce is one more person who will have that in his biography, but he knows that Bruce is more than this one mistake. Bruce didn’t know. 

None of them did. 

“You can trust me on that,” Steve says. 

“I believe you,” Bruce says. He glances towards Tony, who is contacting someone with a communication crystal, then lowers his voice. “Captain, I might be the one who’s studied the Knights’ antimagic for a living, but Tony knows, and cares, a lot more than he lets on.”

“He didn’t trust me to come see you,” Steve says. “I had to convince him.” 

“But he let you come,” Bruce reminds, tilting his head. “Did you trust him to come see me?”

***

“So, I was thinking,” Tony says, “since it’s probably not a good idea to portal into a place where magic is wonky, we should find an alternative.”

And that’s how they end up standing in front of a griffin.

“Meet Giselle,” Tony says. “She doesn’t fight these days. She’s gonna help us get to Sokovia. Very useful, aren’t you,” he adds, towards Giselle with a pat on the back. “Hop on.”

Steve tenses. “You’re using her. As transportation,” he says, turning to Tony. He doesn’t mean to be accusatory, but he doesn’t get the tone right, too alarmed by the unexpected scene. He instantly regrets the words when he sees the dismay that Tony hides almost as soon as it flickers on his face. It’s like watching the glow of fireflies fade in the night, soft enough that there is no afterimage when it’s left, so he almost doesn’t miss it when it’s gone. 

Almost. 

“I—” 

“Woah, woah,” Tony cuts in, jaw slack in a way that Steve now can identify as hurt, wishes he couldn’t. “What, you think I just adopted a griffin? That’s not how this works. No griffin adoption centers around here. If anything, Giselle adopted me as her human.”

Giselle flaps her wings in agreement. 

“I bring her enchanted fruits, she helps me out when I need a favor or two. I’m firmly against mystical being trading,” Tony says, bristling, like he’s been asked this question before, and Steve suddenly remembers that even though Tony doesn’t say much about himself, other people say a lot about Tony Stark. 

“Oh.” Steve looks to Giselle. “I—I didn’t mean that,” he says, even though part of him kind of did. The part that expects this kind of thing from humanity in general. “I’ve never seen a griffin not partnered up by the military, and you’re not military, so I…” he trails off. “I’m sorry.”

Tony doesn’t look embarrassed, but his words rush out in a way that makes Steve feel like he is. “Yeah, no, it’s fine. I forgot,” he says. “You don’t know this stuff.”

Giselle huffs, then dips her head at Steve.

Steve smiles, holding a hand out before the mystical animal. The griffin inclines her head, makes a soft purring noise, allowing him to touch. Steve brushes her head gently. 

“You like griffins, huh?” Tony asks. 

“They’re strong, loyal beings,” Steve says. Giselle’s fur is a bright auburn, warm through his fingers. He hasn’t seen one in such a healthy condition in a while. She seems to have a fake back leg, Steve notes. He recognizes the magic signature, it’s incredibly immaculate magic woven together to create something that moves so organically yet has an admirable strength. 

“They sure are,” Tony says, and doesn’t bring up the leg. 

Steve doesn’t think Tony brings up a lot of things, even when it could make others like him more. It occurs to him that maybe that’s why Tony doesn’t. 

“She really respects you too,” Tony notes, sounding fond again. Too? Steve agrees that Giselle must respect Tony very much, but that’s uncharacteristic of Tony to say, Steve knows that now. “So griffins like you back, I’m not surprised. Two iconic symbols, standing together. Hey, it’s like King Arthur and his griffin all over again, I should get a memory capture of this hanged on my wall.”

“I’m not posing for you, Stark,” Steve says as he swings onto Giselle’s back.

“I’ll frame it in gold,” Tony says. “Or even vibranium, that’s a thought.” He grins. “Wanna lend me your shield?” 

“I’m starting to think you’re only after me for my shield,” Steve says. “I fought with them, you know.” 

“In the old wars,” Tony says, nodding.

“All the rune wars devastated the griffin population,” Steve says. “There was one made specifically to capture them, and after that...” 

Giselle makes a forlorn sound. 

“I’m sorry,” Steve says, running his fingers through Giselle’s fur gently.

Tony doesn’t say sorry, doesn’t mock him, just watches him thoughtfully.

“Aren’t you going to get on?” Steve asks. 

“Oh. No. I can fly,” Tony says. “Don’t need wings when you’ve got anti-gravity magic.” He wiggles his fingers and hops off the ground, effortlessly hovering in the air. 

So that’s how Steve discovers that Tony can, in fact, fly very well in his suit. 

Tony laughs with the winds they ride, and Steve clings onto this feeling. The way they talk makes Steve forget, if just for a moment, where they’re headed and what Steve’s doing here, in this time. Steve should probably remind Tony of that. 

Later, Steve decides. The time will pass either way. Might as well spend it on something he enjoys, for a while, for once.

***

The location Bruce gave them turns out to be in the middle of a forest, high up in the mountains. As they near the ground zero, snow begins to fall.

Giselle stops when the snow becomes too much for her to fly Steve. They thank her and Tony tells her to put it on his tab. 

They see a building in the middle of the forest. “We’re close,” Tony says. “What’s that sign say, an orphanage?” 

The edges of the building are soft, blurry, the whites white, almost invisible, in the snow. Steve blinks, cautious. He doesn’t sense an illusion, but something is off. 

Tony raises a hand, conjuring a magic ball. The door to the building slides open easily. “Scan,” he murmurs, sounding puzzled. The ball he conjures ripples, but remains colorless, negative for illusions. “Well, it’s not an illusion,” Tony says. “Or anything I recognize. But there’s definitely magic, it’s everywhere.”

Steve moves forward, touches the walls, focuses. The wall seems to shake beneath his fingers, the white paint peeling away, cracks breaking it like the roots of time. Everything dies down into a dull gray. “Not an illusion. Are you sure?” he asks. 

Tony sounds a little displeased, look insulted. “It wasn’t,” he repeats mullishly. “Believe me, I’d know.”

“I believe you,” Steve says quickly, honestly. He doesn’t like this place. Steve runs his fingers along the walls as they move forward. His touch and path sends ripples, revealing enough until they’ve crossed the room, the entire space clearing up. 

Cells. This wasn’t a nice orphanage, Steve thinks, and it’s now completely wrecked. 

“Boom,” Steve says quietly, echoing an explosion that happened a while ago. If he tries, he can see the shadows of what, and who, used to be here. Either the trace of what’s been left is just that strong, or Steve’s senses have heightened to that point. He takes a breath. 

“Boom,” Tony echoes, sounding chilled. “A—a bomb. Shit. We shouldn’t…” he trails off. 

“It’s a jail,” Steve says, feeling an angry storm brew inside him as he looks around, taking in what he sees. “A… torture chamber.” 

Tony makes a noise. “Fun,” he says. “Not making exits is a great way of ensuring you have a party going.” 

They walk through and see the remnants. Steve can hear wailing souls, trapped in the place between worlds, not quite living, but unable to die in peace. Wanderers. He tightens his grip on his shield.

There are shadows of people on the wall. The shadows shudder when Steve and Tony walk by them, falling down into ashes. 

Steve grits his teeth.

Tony makes a strangled sound. “That is sick, that—I didn’t know about this.”

“Are you alright?” He doesn’t want Tony to know about experiments like this—illegal alteration and enhancement of powers, of souls. He doesn’t want him to think about how it wasn’t always illegal. The fear of that constricts Steve in a way other things cannot. 

“Yeah, I’m. I’m good. It’s just not the typical afternoon news broadcasts I get.” Tony shakes his head. “The breaking news is usually of the newest haircut trend.” He tries to smile, but it’s strained. “Probably mine.” 

“Tony,” Steve says softly, raising a tentative hand. He lets it fall to the side, though, not wanting the touch to accidentally set Tony’s magic off. “You don’t need to do that.” 

“Joke in the face of fucked up shit? If not me, then who will?” 

“Let your wit and charm take a vacation for once. I can take on one more duty,” Steve says. 

Tony quirks his lips up at him. “Ever the eager knight. Maybe you shouldn’t, for once.” 

Steve feels—uncomfortable. He doesn’t know what to say. 

Tony casts a frown back at the site. “So much darkness…” His eyes darken. “Not just from the bomb. This isn’t what magic should be used for.” The sphere in his hand is a deep purple, nearing black, swirling, building. 

“Tony,” Steve says. 

“This is a graveyard,” Tony says, looking haunted. The whispers louden, telling Tony to look at what he could’ve prevented. He doesn’t hear them at all, just stares at the white flowers bunched up on the floor, by a rock. They seem withered now, bleeding black, cobwebs glistening on them. “And there was a survivor,” Tony says quietly, and the tone makes Steve think Tony hears the spirits’ voices anyway. “The witch…” 

Steve can’t bear it. “Let’s go,” he says firmly, breaking Tony’s focus. The ball of magic dissipates, but an eerie dark afterimage remains in the air. Tony grimaces. “Ground zero isn’t here.” 

“Yeah. But something was.” 

In the glint of the reflection of Steve’s shield, he catches a glimpse of shadows. He tilts it out of Tony’s line of sight. 

_We see you_ , one of the forgotten souls calls to Steve. _What are you doing there?_

Steve says nothing back. He doesn’t belong here with the Wanderers, either.

***

“The magic is getting stronger around here,” Steve says, walking over a slithering root. The trees are fairly peaceful regarding their presence, just shaking snow off their branches and shuddering in the cold, nothing obtrusive.

“That’s an understatement, it’s unstable as fuck,” Tony says. “Sorcerers don’t come here, it’s made off-limits by the High Witch in Sokovia, which is why I guess it took so long to pin this area down. Doesn’t stand out on its own.” 

Tony raises his hand, and because he doesn’t need any casting time, apparently, Steve doesn’t have the time to tell him to stop, or the capability to hurt Tony by grabbing his arm and draining his magic. Light sparks at Tony’s fingertips. It quickly grows into hungry flames, and shockingly enough, cackles as if alive. He steps back, jerking away. Steve catches a glimpse of faces in the fire before Tony quickly releases the spell, letting the fire be blown away by the wind. 

“Well,” Tony says, “that’s not normal.” Steve can feel Tony’s arc reactor reacting to the mutated magic in the air around them. His signature struggles to stay steady, betraying how rattled he feels, being not in control of his magic. 

“Maybe you shouldn’t use any magic around here anymore,” Steve says, worried. “It’ll be dangerous.” _Because you are magic_ , Steve wants to say, and he’s seen magic warped before. 

“Good advice, I’ll take it into consideration,” Tony says. “I’ve got a shining armor and _the_ Knight by my side. There’s no place safer, Cap.”

It doesn’t take long for them to find what they’re looking for. 

“Well, never let it be said that sorcerers are ever subtle,” Steve says, blinking at the literal rip in reality in the distance, deep in the forest. It glows, a deep red, moving chaotically like something out of a dream. 

Tony laughs. “Yeah,” he agrees with a trace of wonder in his voice, a hint of reverence. When Steve glances over, he catches Tony looking at him. Tony looks back at the rift quickly. “You must be used to things like this,” he says. “I mean, you’re ancient and pretty much ageless. That’s a good way to sightsee all the wonders of the world, be there when history is made.”

It’s very odd, Tony directing that at Steve. He doesn’t know how to react. “It’s always history,” Steve says. 

“Yeah,” Tony says, blinking. “I guess you don’t get a lot of time to yourself.”

“This is the first time I’ve seen something like this,” Steve says. “Magic used to be a lot more… incantation based. It was all about order, even when it brought destruction. Now it’s just…”

“Chaos,” Tony says. “Well, most people still use incantations, you know. Abracadabra, all the classic tongue-twisters.” 

“I have never heard you utter a single spell,” Steve says. 

Tony shrugs, as if it’s not something incredible. “And you don’t even need spells. I bet you had a court magician who waved oak wands around while chanting,” he says, ignoring the unspoken question. Steve really wants to ask why, but there’s something more pressing. 

He’s not here to make friends. 

Steve considers walking closer to the rift. He can see it clearly from here, but he needs to be closer. “Dancing, too,” Steve says, but is distracted by the cold, by the chill biting his bones. 

He looks over to see Tony smiling at him. Steve shivers, a frisson heating his spine. Steve is not reacting properly to anything right now. It must be the rift. It might be the snow. 

The storm picks up, howling, white blanketing the ground thickly. 

Steve shuts his eyes, tries to find his focus. He presses his palm on the center of his shield, feels the power there. He can’t let himself wander away. He’s in this world right now. This time. With Tony. 

“I’ll see if I can get any closer,” Steve says, opening his eyes. 

“What, no, no. That’s a terrible idea, you should stay,” Tony says. “Right here.” He trudges over, putting a hand on Steve’s chestplate. His mask has shifted up to reveal his face, and he looks a touch confused, scared. Lost. Like he’s looking for something, and can’t believe Steve is there. “You’re real…?”

There’s a sudden boom. They both jump in alarm, Steve raising his shield to deflect the attacker, the shadowed figure dashing towards them. There’s a loud, resounding noise when they clash, and then the vibranium is shrieking in pain. Steve grits his teeth, shaken by the amount of force. He pushes back with the shield. 

When the attacker relents, jumping back into the fog of the snowstorm, the motion is quickly followed by two bursts of red from Tony, pure, raw attacks, his magic lashing out. They chain together loudly, hitting nothing.

Steve stares at the empty air. Only snow remains. 

“Holy shit, what was that,” Tony breathes, alarmed, hands raised. He sounds pained, which is what manages to draw Steve out of his trance. His magic is smoking from where he shot, a bright red in the world of white. 

That was real. Tony saw that, too.

Does that mean it was real?

Steve exhales, feeling his lungs ache, ice piercing through him. Tony’s magic is so alive, so close. When Steve stands by him, it feels like he’s being licked by fire. 

“Do you know what that was?” Tony asks. 

Steve stares at the snow, fresh, clear. If there were footprints, it’s snowing too heavily, they’d be covered already. 

Steve shakes his head. “It’s nothing,” he says.

***

They walk for what seems like a long time, the snow chasing them away from the rift, but they can’t seem to find a way out of the forest. The winter sun is setting early, magenta splashing against the sky.

Steve stares up, holding a hand out. He doesn’t flicker, but the world around him does. 

“Cap?” 

It’s getting colder again. Steve looks down at his shield, a slow panic rising.

“ _Steve_?” Tony’s voice wrenches him out of his drifting. Tony is almost touching Steve, hand hovering by Steve’s, close enough that it makes Steve shudder. He could reach out and grasp Tony’s hand right now. Tony has shifted his mask off again. He must be cold, too, but all he emits to Steve is heat. He glances fleetingly at Steve’s shield, doesn’t comment on its fracture. “No freaking me out here, got it? I’ve reached the freakout limit of my—my life already.” 

Freaking out? Steve is not allowed to do that. Emotions are for sorcerers. Steve is a knight. Knights kill bad sorcerers. But Tony is a sorcerer, and he’s not bad. 

This has to be a dream. Apart from Tony, the entire world feels like Steve’s dreamscape, like when he’s asleep, waiting to be summoned. 

“You’re a billionaire,” Steve says, slowly becoming aware of his heart hammering against his chest. “You’ve got the gold, you can afford to break a few limits.” 

“Good to hear you say that, glad you can appreciate it when you know gold can’t buy everything,” Tony says, sounding somewhat amused, but it sounds forced, like there’s something more fragile in his voice that he wants to mask. Worry, Steve thinks. “Not in this economy. Everyone’s after diamond these days.” 

Tony isn’t someone Steve would be able to dream up. He looks at Tony, whose eyes are so wide. 

Maybe this is Tony’s nightmare. 

“What about you,” Steve says, and he raises his free hand, fingertips brushing Tony’s wrist. He can feel the pulse of Tony’s heart, his blood rushing with mana. He’s never felt anything so powerful, so alluring, so alive. The arc reactor in Tony’s chest isn’t just providing magic, it’s controlling what’s already there, channeling it into something more bearable for the world. Steve almost can’t look away. He drags his gaze up. 

Tony’s eyes are dark. 

“What are you after,” Steve asks. “What do you want?”

Tony jerks his hand away, surprise and trepidation chasing something else away. “Oh, you know,” he says, swallowing. “This and that. I hear shawarma is in great demand these days.” 

“That’s not what I asked,” Steve says.

“Oh, so you do understand the concept of asking and answering,” Tony says. “Good job, Cap. Nice to know you just purposefully avoid that.” 

Steve shouldn’t pry, there’s no reason for him to know Tony beyond his name. His name is all he shows to the world, anyway. 

_Anyway._

Steve shakes his head. He doesn’t like the idea of Tony always avoiding that, of no one genuinely asking Tony that. He doesn’t want to only be Cap to Tony. “Call me Steve,” he says. 

“Steve,” he repeats, incredulous. “You sure it’s safe giving a sorcerer permission to use your name? And not just anyone, but me.” 

“Not just any sorcerer,” Steve says, smiling brightly in agreement. “You.” 

“Well,” Tony says. His tongue darts out to lick his lips briefly. “Aren’t you a sweet-talker.” He groans. “I don’t know if this is what he meant when he said you were dangerous.” 

“Thank you,” Steve says earnestly. 

“I didn’t think this would affect you so badly like this. I am not in my right mind right now. _You_ are not in your right mind right now, which is pretty impressive. Our plan may need some revision, if you can’t get close enough without… whatever this is. We need to get you into the city. Maybe some distance will help.”

***

They end up finding a cave to hide in. There’s the sound of water dripping, echoing into the darkness. There must be something deeper in the caves, but Tony doesn’t seem curious. He sits down, back against the edge of the cave, fairly close to the entrance.

“A different environment should help you,” Tony says. “Of all things,” he mutters to himself.

Steve wonders if Tony’s suit provides enough warmth. 

“Sorry,” Steve says, tense. It’s easier to think now that he’s out of the snowstorm. He peers at it. It doesn’t look like it’s going to stop anytime soon. “I know I was acting—”

“It’s fine,” Tony cuts in quickly. “I felt weird, too.” Steve nods. “It was the rift, it interferes with thought. I completely forgot that I was there to fix the rune.” He sighs. “I’ll—I’ll set some protective waves to counter the thought interference next time.” He looks out dubiously. “If the snow clears. I’m not really digging the cold.” 

“I was supposed to nullify the magic around it,” Steve says, lips curving down. “I didn’t.” 

Instead of doing what he’s supposed to do, he—

Steve grits his teeth. 

“Hey, it’s fine, Steve,” Tony says. “Aren’t you going to sit?” 

”Yeah,” Steve says, sitting beside Tony. He remembers what he asked Tony in the snow. “I’m sorry if I trespassed, Tony.”

Tony laughs. “You broke into my tower the first time we met,” he says. “This was nothing.” His eyes dart around. He looks restless, like he’s expecting tentacles to sprout out of the rocks. 

“What happened to taking my advice on not using magic?” Steve asks, feeling weak that he can’t do anything for Tony right now. It’s his fault Tony had to use magic again. His fault they’re stuck here. 

“I said I would take it under consideration,” Tony says. “I never said I’d watch you get attacked by some shade or something.” He rubs at his chest. The touch makes his arc reactor shine brighter. He grimaces with pain, pulling his hand back. Steve feels the pull of Tony’s magic, wonders if this is what made Steve feel so… drunk, and not just the effects of the reality rift. 

“You’re injured,” Steve says, widening his eyes. He shifts over, closer so he can examine the wounds on Tony’s palms. The metal of his gloves had been broken through. “Magic lesions?” he asks, confused. Those are very rare, only happen to weak sorcerers. “Can your body not handle the stress of magic—”

“Wasn’t supposed to happen,” Tony says flatly, withdrawing his hands. He narrows his eyes at Steve. “Won’t happen again, alright?”

“Alright,” Steve says. He hadn’t wanted to ask before, but Tony is hurt. His magic is hurt. “Your arc reactor. What is it for? Is it safe?”

“Why, SHIELD didn’t debrief you about the Tony Stark situation?” Tony asks with a wry laugh, and his grin is wide as it was the day they met, completely fake, Steve knows that now that they know each other better. “Am I not important enough to be on the need-to-know list for the Captain?”

Steve finds that he really hates it when Tony does that. “They said the arc reactor powers your magic. Just like any other crystal,” Steve says. “It’s not any other crystal.” 

“I’m really doubting that’s all they said about this little thing I made here,” Tony says. He taps the reactor. Steve hears the magic hum louder when Tony taps it, like it’s reacting to Tony’s touch. Tony’s smile looks pained. “This can power pretty much anything, including me.”

“The signature is very strong.” Steve looks at it consideringly, thinking Tony should at least be proud of this. “I’ve never felt anything like it.”

“Well, you can’t miss it,” Tony says. “People find it very off-putting. It’s considered rude, to publicly flare your magic, and this gives people headaches.” 

“Tony, it’s considered foolish to give your name to the public, and yet you add it to everywhere you can, including a tower that everyone can see,” Steve points out. 

“I like being known,” Tony says, smiling, but his eyes are narrowed slightly, and his smile is a touch too wide. Puzzled, uncertain, he doesn’t seem to know where Steve is going with this. 

“It’s… amazing, is all.” 

That’s what Tony wants. He wants to live. More than wanting to be, he wants to do.

Tony blinks at him. “Okay, what is this, Tony Stark appreciation day?” he asks. “That’s sometime during the summer, I think. Steve, I didn’t pay you to flatter me, I’m pretty sure there’s not enough gold in the world for that. Did Pepper set you up to this?”

Steve exhales. “You have no idea how impressive it is that you’ve created something like this.”

“It comes from death,” Tony says flatly, gaze hardening.

“Not anymore,” Steve says softly. “I don’t see that.”

“Because you weren’t there,” Tony snaps, words suddenly heated, angry, and Steve wonders if Tony has ever wanted to summon him before. Wonders if Tony has ever tried. “You’ve missed a lot during your sleep, _Captain.”_

“I wish I hadn’t,” Steve says. Then frowns, going silent. 

The echoing in the cave seems to be growing louder. Steve hears a stream of water flowing, deepening until it feels like the cave is submerged under cold water, sound waves altering. 

Tony breathes out shakily, tense. His magic is incredibly unstable right now. 

“Tony,” Steve says softly, holding out his hand. “It’s alright. Breathe with me.” 

“I’m fine,” Tony says. The water sounds louden, stream morphing into a river. He flinches suddenly when a water droplet splashes onto his face. He wipes it away quickly. “Sorry.”

Steve doesn’t need to ask to know what that expression is on Tony’s face. He doesn’t want to know why it’s fear, but can guess. Steve holds out his hand. “Let me help you steady your magic.” 

“It’s supposed to be fine. The arc reactor is supposed to—“ Tony takes a shuddery breath. “Fix it. It’s supposed to fix it.” 

Steve feels a pang in his chest. Why is Tony’s magic broken? Maybe being able to focus on something else will help. “You mentioned Wish magic,” he says. “Magic is about intent, right? The original caster must have Wished for something to come true, and the Aether interfered. So now anything we believe or fear to be true, happens.” 

Steve and Tony both look up. It’s started to rain. 

“Yeah, like how the cave ceiling is dumping rain on our faces. No way is that possible without a spell,” Tony says. “I know it’s not supposed to be possible. Why is it still like that?” His lips twist together thoughtfully. “Nightmare central, pretty much.” 

They look at each other. 

“ _Oh_ ,” Steve says. 

“Yeah, shit. It’s not Wish magic,” Tony says.

“It’s Dream magic,” Steve says, swallowing. Dreams include nightmares. He thinks of the—spirit that had attacked them. Maybe he should bring it up, but he’s only now gotten Tony to not hate him. He shouldn’t. 

“It’s not just a big reality rift,” Tony says. He squints at something, eyes unfocusing as he checks something in his mind’s eye. “That rune, I think I know what it was for now. Yeah. Fuck, I’m going to need to find out what the witch’s intent was if we want to change it. How the Hel is the Aether able to rewrite reality?”

“The impossible is made possible,” Steve says, thinking of crimson waves crashing against itself, flowing and dark and alive. “They say the Aether is what wrote the universe.” He looks at Tony. “Do you think you can undo the rune so it stops making the Aether change reality? So it reverses the world to before?”

“That’s impossi—” Tony cuts himself off. “Not impossible. Okay, I see what you’re doing there. Do you think you’re being cute, Steve?” 

Steve grins. “Impossible,” he says, laughter in his voice. 

Tony smiles, rolling his eyes fondly. “Maybe, yeah. If you can make the Aether not unwrite me. It clearly makes m—magic more unstable around it.” 

A wave of anger hits Steve. He was really fazed by the Aether combined with the dream-related rune. Maybe it’s because he’s the summon. He blinks a few times, wishes he could be free of all his contracts. 

Tony looks at Steve, tilting his head. He reaches out for Steve’s hand, holds it tightly. Their hands are dry, as if it’s never rained. 

Tony’s magic seems to settle down after a while. “It’s my heart,” he says finally. 

“Yeah?” 

“The arc reactor. I made it to replace my heart. My mana is, pardon my language, fucked up,” Tony says wryly, but there’s a sort of relief in his eyes, like he’s glad Steve is listening like this, glad he finally knows. “Curse gone wrong when I was captured.” He shrugs. “The rift must’ve messed with that, when I shot at the freaky ninja that popped up out of nowhere.” 

Steve lets that sink in, trying to ignore the freaky ninja part. “It’s beautiful,” he says honestly, and realizes he wants to say _you’re beautiful_. He looks at Tony, who smiles at him, eyes bright, warm. 

They sit like that for a while. Steve focusing on the steady but alive hum of the arc reactor like one would count a heartbeat. 

The rain slows to a stop. The cave is silent. Outside, the snow subsides.

***

Tony takes Steve to inner Sokovia.

“We need to see the Scarlet Witch,” Tony says. “She’s the High Witch of Sokovia, and I’m guessing she’s the one behind this.” 

“Are we expecting her to tell us her plans nicely?”

“Worth a try,” Tony says. “She’s a good person. The people here have always loved her. If I want to undo the rune, I need to know her original intent so I don’t accidentally make gravity stop existing because someone dreamed about flying.” 

Steve lets out a laugh. He widens his eyes at what they walk upon when they enter the busy streets. They are completely packed with people. Flowers dance through the skies, riding the gentle breeze. Steve smells warm noodles. For the first time in a long time (a lifetime), he registers his hunger. 

“I didn’t know this many people lived in Sokovia,” Steve says.

“Y’know, I was going to say that’s because you can’t have been in Novi Grad, it’s such a young city, but I thought so too,” Tony says warily. 

Steve glances at him. He thinks looking at Tony will reveal more about the state of Sokovia right now than looking at the lively—what appears to be—festival celebration, because Tony knows what Sokovia is supposed to be like.

Steve wonders what it’s like to miss a place. Missing a time is harder. You can never really go back to it. 

Tony sees his expression. “Oh. Did you never celebrate Winterveil?” He waves a hand. “Most magical night of the year, the day the spirits have the most power?” 

“Oh,” Steve says. This week hasn’t always been about celebrations. Steve hasn’t been to festivals celebrating the veil fading before. Security must be much better now. “In my time, we hid behind masks and sacrifices. We were scared that spirits would come to haunt the living. Not this... happy about it,” he says, watching kids run laugh around a flower stand with all sorts of vibrant colors.

“Interesting,” Tony says. 

Tony leads them towards a stand that’s selling fruits. 

“Tony Stark,” the vendor says, recognizing Tony. It occurs to Steve that Tony could wear a different mask and armor, could take off everything that makes him Iron Man. Maybe he thinks everything that he should be _is_ Iron Man. That makes Steve’s heart ache. “What are you doing here?” he asks, accent heavy. 

“Just buying a phoenixfruit,” Tony says, picking up a perfect, spherical fruit. “They grow these here.”

“Yes. As part of our efforts towards peace, Ser Stark,” the vendor says sardonically. 

The fruit catches fire. 

Alarmed, Steve reaches out to pat out the fire, “Tony—” 

“No, no,” Tony says quickly as the fire dies down. “This is actually supposed to happen. It makes it more flavorful.” He holds out a whole gold piece to the vendor. “Thank you.” 

The vendor eyes it. “You can keep your money,” he says. “Gold holds no value here anymore.” 

Tony blinks. Steve blinks. 

Then Tony smiles, an aggressive smile, fake. “I didn’t think your little witch could get anything helpful done,” he says, voice mocking and ugly. Steve hates it. 

The vendor hates it too. “The Scarlet Witch,” he snaps, “has done so much for us. She and her brother have made Sokovia a much better place.” 

“She has no brother,” Tony says. 

“Of course you’d believe that,” he retorts. “You are not welcome here.”

Tony smiles at him, cold. Steve feels terrible. “If I only went to places I was welcome, I wouldn’t go very far,” Tony says, and takes out another gold coin, places it beside the first beside a batch of vibrant fruits. 

When they fix reality, gold is going to be important in Sokovia again. Steve sighs after Tony leads them onto a different path. 

“You don’t have to do that, you know,” Steve says. “Make people not like you.” 

“It got us what we needed to know,” Tony says. “It’s the Scarlet Witch, the locals are in on it.” 

“But it doesn’t get you what you want,” Steve says quietly. 

“It got me this,” Tony says, shrugs, splitting the fruit with a clean crack. He hands Steve half of the fruit. “Phoenixfruit, firefruit, whatever you want to call it.” Steve watches in astonishment at how the negativity seems to have slipped off him like he’s immune (or has learned how to be used to it). His eyes dance with delight when Steve nearly drops the amber fruit when the fruit rumbles. “You’ll like it! Or hate it. Either way, your reaction will be great.”

“Thank you, Tony,” Steve says. 

Tony smiles at him brightly, then looks away with an almost wistful laugh to himself. He takes a bite of his half, chewing. Steve watches him swallow. 

“It’s no problem at all, Steve,” Tony says.

***

They agree for Steve to wear a set of casual clothes that Tony conjures up out of nowhere. Steve stores his armor away with his shield.

“She’ll underestimate you,” Tony says. “That’ll be useful.”

Steve shrugs and agrees. They find the Scarlet Witch waiting outside her home for them, arms crossed, standing in a garden of blooming, snow white flowers. 

“Hi. Sokovia’s sorceress, right,” Tony sounds so friendly that Steve finds it weird. Tony was definitely not this amiable when he met with Steve. Though Steve supposes he did trespass. And threw a few barbs. It was in retaliation. Alright, so their first impressions had gone a little awry, but they were on much better terms now, he thinks. “Wanda Maximoff?” 

“I am the Scarlet Witch. Not Wanda Maximoff to you.” The young woman glares at Tony. “Tony Stark.” Her voice holds no affection.

“What gave it away,” Tony says, grinning. “The suit, or my unparalleled presence?” 

“Your arrogance. You think you are welcome in Sokovia,” Wanda says shortly, unimpressed. “You think you are welcome everywhere.” She doesn’t try to banish the two of them out of her cottage, so they’re okay. Probably. Steve’s had worse experiences with pissed off sorceresses.

Tony must feel awful. He’s still smiling. Maybe that’s the point. 

Steve coughs, catching her attention. 

Wanda gives him a lookover, then looks surprised. Probably by the lack of a signature. Magic nulls have always been rare. Not very welcome. “Who are you?” she asks, less hostile. 

This is the first time someone hasn’t recognized Steve. Maybe that’s a good sign, but Steve doesn’t feel very good about it. He’s not in his armor right now, after all, and his shield is safely stored away. It makes sense that Wanda wouldn’t recognize him. He opens his mouth to answer, he’s not sure what exactly, but Tony cuts him off by resting a hand on Steve’s arm, rather suggestively. 

“He’s with me,” Tony says. 

He’s with Tony.

He’s with—

“Is that so,” Wanda says. 

Steve takes a moment to process that. Their suspect seems equally surprised. Tony said he had an idea to make Scarlet Witch underestimate Steve, but… 

Tony winks at Steve, and Steve feels warm. He didn’t think this was an option. Maybe it’s still not, it’s just a tactic Tony is using. “I uh,” he says, looking back towards Wanda. “Yes.”

“You could do better,” she tells him. “Did you hear about the part where Stark’s ballistic fire missiles nearly destroyed Sokovia? I’m sure you and your friends had a great laugh about that,” she says, directing the last part at Tony. 

Tony tenses, hand twitching before he tries to withdraw it. Steve raises his own, holding it there. Tony doesn’t look at him sharply, but Steve feels Tony’s magic shrink away, almost like it’s trying to seem less powerful, even as Tony straightens up and is probably about to say something stupid. 

That’s it. Steve’s not letting Tony act like this. “We’re here to apologize,” Steve says. 

There’s an extremely awkward moment of silence that draws out between all of them.

“Are you,” Wanda says blankly. 

“I am,” Tony says. “Right.”

“Then let’s hear your speech,” a voice comes. There’s a shimmer and a young man comes to stand beside Wanda. “Tony Stark. I hear you are good at speeches.”

“Who are you?” Tony asks. “Are you with her?” 

“No, no. Not like you two,” the man says. “I am her brother, Pietro.”

“Pietro. You shouldn’t...” 

Pietro Maximoff shrugs. “It’s alright,” he says to his sister, meeting Steve’s eyes. Pietro grins. 

“Related,” Tony says. “By blood?” 

“Yes,” Wanda says, a touch defensively. “Why do you ask?”

“Nothing. Just, weird is all.” Tony smiles. “Don’t remember this on your file.” 

Wanda narrows her eyes at Tony. “Official files miss a lot of things. Things people like you don’t care about.” She shakes her head. “What are you doing here?” 

“Well,” Tony says, “we heard that Sokovia was the place to be if we wanted our dreams to come true.”

Wanda’s lips part in surprise. She narrows her eyes, fingers twitching like she wants to cast a spell, but refrains. “Then good luck to you and yours,” she says. “Now we would like to enjoy our peace. In peace,” she adds pointedly. 

Tony stands there for a moment, then says, “I am sorry,” in the most serious voice Steve’s heard him use with other people. “My speeches will never be enough for what happened to your country. I—I am sorry. I swear on my magic I mean no harm to you or yours.” He pours magic into his words, setting a binding oath, and Steve would sincerely believe his words even if Tony didn’t have a breath of magic in him.

Wanda stares at him. She clenches her fists. “Let’s go,” she says to her brother. “We have a Winterveil to prepare for.”

***

“That was some good acting,” Tony comments. “You really looked flustered there.”

“That’s not what I thought your plan was,” Steve says. “I thought you were going to give me a pitiful sob story about how I was born without magic. Which would be true.”

“Nothing pitiful about you, Steve,” Tony says with a dismissive wave of the hand. “Anyway, I’m sorry I made you uncomfortable,” he adds, like it’s nothing. Maybe it is, to him. Maybe it’s just a funny idea he thought of. Tony’s eyes dart over to see his reaction. 

“It’s fine,” Steve says quickly, throat constricting. He’s still shocked that Tony thought of— “A fake relationship.”

Tony looks away, smiling wryly. “You did make me say sorry, though, so, we’re even. Tony Stark getting into a relationship with Steve Rogers, and saying sorry on the same day. No wonder it’s the apocalypse. I can cross those off my bucket list. Good job, me.” 

“You were sorry. You wanted to say it, didn’t you?” Steve asks. 

Tony shrugs. “It’s just the first time she’s heard it,” he says, and drops it. “Anyway, did you not feel something very wrong with her brother?” he asks, eyes sharpening pensively. 

“What do you mean?” Steve asks, confused. 

“What do you mean, ‘what do you mean’?” Tony arches an eyebrow. “He was… see-through. Like he’s moving in a different plane.” He grimaces. “The whole city sort of feels like that.” 

“I didn’t feel that at all,” Steve says. “Are you sure?” 

“No?” Tony frowns. “You didn’t?” 

Steve feels a chill. He blinks, hard. “No,” he says. “I need to—I need to check something.” 

Steve makes his way back to where the festival is happening. The streets are emptier now, only lanterns floating around in the sky. People are busy spending time with loved ones. Catching up for lost time. 

“Steve?” Tony calls, confused. 

He follows the petals in the sky, finds the flower girl at the end of the street. “Hi,” he says. 

The girl looks at him curiously. “I was just about to head home,” she says. “Need a flower?” 

“Ah. Um.” Steve looks around. Tony is standing a fair distance from him. “Yes. Anniversary. My partner, he’s fond of white flowers.” He points at a single flower in a pot. “What’s this flower?” he asks, examining the petals. 

This is the same flower as the ones he saw around Wanda’s house. The same ones he saw at the orphanage. Wispy and white, a beautiful, mesmerizing look, bright even in the snowy Sokovia.

“Oh! Here,” the girl says, snipping the flower from its stem and passing it to Steve. 

Steve twirls it in his hand. It seems to turn to white smoke when he breathes on it, lost with the long exhale into the air. He reaches out with a hand, trying to catch the trace of magic, but it fades away into the night. 

“You’re not from around here, are you?” the girl asks. 

Steve tries for a smile, even though he’s unsettled. “How did you know?” he asks. 

“People don’t buy those anymore,” she says. She goes to grab another bouquet of flowers, pausing slightly, lips parting before she smiles. “This one likes you. You should take it.” 

The petals bloom strongly when Steve touches them. “They’re beautiful,” he says. They remind him of the field of lilies that bloomed every spring in his hometown. They’re probably no longer there. “Are all Sokovian flowers enchanted?” 

“Not at all!” She looks delighted to be able to talk about this. “It’s a forget-me-not. They usually only flower after the snow melts, but the Sokovian forget-me-not is strong. They answer to people with the same will.”

Steve brushes a finger over the petal. It’s very soft. The blue seems to shimmer beneath his skin, like mana is flowing through him to it, even though he has none. 

“They haven’t been purchased often since we were saved, however. You may have that one for free,” the girl continues, smile turning dreamy. She waves a hand over the other flowers, and they all make light giggling sounds back at her, like a chime in the wind, more alive than many people Steve has met. “Just like the flower you asked about. Soon, there will be no need for them at all.”

“Why not?” Steve asks, feeling like he’s trapped in a tomb of snow. “What is this?” he asks, holding out the stem of the flower that doesn’t giggle, just dissipates into nothingness.

“Those are the regional ghost-whisperers,” she says. When she touches the stem, it glows red before it flutters away, too. She laughs. “They are used to speak to the dead.”

***

This explains Steve’s heightened sensitivity to magic too, the strange reactions. He thought it’d been because of… of other things. He thought it’d been because he started to feel more real. But it was very much the opposite.

Steve refuses to break because of that. This is nothing, this is… 

This is nothing.

Tony is the one hurting. He’s sitting down by the fountain, with the water spraying angel that is flying around somewhere over rooftops. 

“Tony,” Steve says, going for sympathetic. 

“What if they’re all dead,” Tony says. “Talk about a ghost town. Wow. That witch has… some serious power, if she managed to dream everyone back to life.”

“The Aether is messing with whatever rune she crafted,” Steve says. 

“I wonder how she found the Aether,” Tony says. “How are we going to deal with this?” His lips curl down. “We can’t get near the rift without going all loopy and unstable.” 

“Let’s go back to the Scarlet Witch,” Steve says. 

Tony looks at him. “I’m lucky she didn’t dream me out of existence, Steve.” 

“I don’t think she’s—“ Steve sighs. “She kept the ghost-whisperers, Tony. She was still caring for them, even though her brother came back.” 

Tony blinks. “I mean, it could be that she just likes the flowers,” he says. “They’re pretty. Doesn’t have to mean that she expects him to die again.” 

“But it could,” Steve says. 

“That’s sad, Steve. Mourning someone while they’re still alive,” Tony says. “Knowing the inevitable. Having to accept it.” 

Steve isn’t sure what to say to that, but he hopes he’s right in what he chooses not to say. He can’t say the truth, not when it’d be exactly what Tony doesn’t want to know. “It is,” Steve says. 

Tony averts his gaze. “The city deserves to know,” he says. “If they’re all going to die again, they…” He looks tired. 

Steve’s heart aches. “They’ll understand. The Scarlet Witch will help us, and she has the city’s favor.” 

“Favor changes like the weather, you know. Steve, why… you have so much faith in people you’ve just met,” Tony says, still not looking at Steve. “Why didn’t you have any in me?” 

_Did you want me to?_ “I’m not always right, Tony. I’m making up for it now,” Steve says. He sits down beside Tony. “Here. I grabbed you another phoenixfruit.” He taps it on the side awkwardly. The sound is hollow. He squints at it. “I don’t think it’s setting itself on fire? I tried to—knock it around, you know.” 

“Steve.” Tony looks at him. “Steve, dear. You don’t need magic. You just didn’t steal a ripe fruit.” He shakes his head and laughs. “You stole a fruit—are you a fruit thief, is this going to become a thing? I don’t want to have to explain that to SHIELD when we come out of this.” 

“You paid way more than double,” Steve says with a shrug. 

Tony smiles at him, then starts a small fire in his palm. Steve shivers. It’s very bright in the dark, setting Tony’s dark eyes alight. 

“I heard what you said, by the way, with the florist,” Tony says, clearly going for nonchalant. “All of it.” 

“You did,” Steve says hoarsely. 

Tony licks his lips. “Yeah.” He sets the fruit on fire, lets it burn, crackling with the flames. After it dies down, Tony splits the fruit again and hands it over. 

What does Steve want Tony to say? Is he bothered by how Steve said it was for his partner? Is this him trying to let Steve down easily? 

“Forget-me-not, huh,” Tony says. 

Steve feels his heart sink. It’s not as firmly lodged in the ice anymore. The ice is melting, and it stings like molten wax. He manages a smile. “You think it suits me?” 

“No,” Tony says. He laughs lightly. “Who could ever forget you, Steve?”

***

This is going to be hard. Steve knows what it’s like to want something to come true so bad. Steve knows what it’s like for the wish to go wrong.

It takes a while for Wanda to come around, but eventually she and Pietro sit down with them.

“Help us stop it,” Tony is saying. He’s in his mode of persuasion, earnest and bright and full of rapidfire reasoning. It’s something to behold, and Steve is almost surprised by the affection that surges inside him. 

“You’re already trying, aren’t you?” Steve asks. The Scarlet Witch would’ve done much more to hinder them if she’d wanted to. Hinder Tony. Revenge is a thing that can easily blind people, and guilt is something that makes people not move away when the blinded attack. 

“Why do you think that,” Wanda says slowly, eyes uncertain, and she looks strikingly young. Steve wishes he’d been summoned more, wishes he’d been able to save her, wishes she didn’t have to save herself. 

Wishing can’t change the past. It can only change the future. 

“You understand that the dead can’t be with the living,” Steve says softly. “They—they don’t belong. If the veil breaks and the Aether manages to change reality like that, all magic will go out of control. It’ll destroy the world.” He looks at Pietro. “Sorry.” 

“Nah, why you apologizing? It’s cool,” Pietro says, shrugging with one shoulder. “I’ve died once, it’s not so bad.” He smiles at Steve and winks. 

He knows, Steve realizes. Pietro knows. That must be why Steve didn’t, wasn’t able to tell at all. Pietro is too real to Steve, who of course can’t tell when people in Sokovia aren’t exactly here. 

“Yes. We understand,” Wanda admits, fingers fluttering. “Magic wouldn’t have any limits.” She swallows, guilt heavy on her face, but doesn’t look away from Steve. “I’m sorry. I want to make things right again. I thought it would be enough to wish for the wish to be undone, but is not enough. I—I don’t have the power to nullify the Aether.”

“I know someone who does,” Steve says. 

“What about on Winterveil, when the Veil falls,” Tony says, trying to sweep over Steve’s words. “Magic is the most volatile then, but it’s also when magic is the strongest.” And when spirits are the strongest. “I can maybe bypass the Aether, go straight to undoing the rune.”

“You want to undo the rune?” Wanda stares. “That is impossible.”

“People tell me I’m impossible all the time, yet I exist,” Tony says dryly. 

“Yet you exist,” Wanda agrees, then sighs, frowning. “Winterveil would make it easier to approach the Rift, but it would be a one-way trip, and still very difficult. You cannot walk away from a magical black hole like that,” she says, doubtful. She looks at Steve. “Who do you know?”

Tony’s lips curve down. “It’s a one-way trip, Steve,” he says tightly, something hard in his voice, and it takes a moment before his eyes move to search for Steve. 

Tony shouldn’t have tried to look for anything in Steve. Steve doesn’t know if there’s anything worth finding, and what Tony will see—it’s not something he’ll like. 

“We’re lucky. The timing is good. We’ll wait till the Veil fades,” Steve says. “Until then, even I can’t contain the Aether.” Only when the Veil fades will Steve be able to do it. 

“But that’s also when it’s the riskiest,” Tony says. “Is self-sacrificing a shtick of yours, or does that just really get you off?” 

Steve looks inside, remembers how he’s supposed to be hardened. But sometimes remembering a thing doesn’t make it true, because it comes much harder than it should be for him to look back at Tony, gaze steady. 

But the part that breaks his heart is that he can still do it. He can still look at Tony and, knowing that Tony will believe him, say, “I’ll make it.”

***

Wanda repeatedly tells them to _clear their minds_ of any doubt. Apparently it will help them focus when the time comes. Clutter and fear will only grow their nightmares, so Wanda sends them to the local hot springs.

“For their healing effects,” Wanda said. There was a pause before she added, smiling, “You are lucky to have found each other. I am grateful for your help. I will meet you at the Rift tomorrow at twilight. Enjoy your night together.”

Neither of them denied it, which made Steve blush. They made their way to the location Wanda gave them, a bubbling hot spring in the night. The air is warm here, smoldering. 

Steve smiles despite the worry that lodged in his chest. Tony looks rested, his magic humming around them in a non-intrusive way. He’d hesitated for only a moment before he slipped into the water. Tony looks—he looks good, without his armor covering everything. 

The rocks nearby are only lightly dusted with snow. The spring seems immune to the cold. 

“She said it’s supposed to be calming,” Tony says, stretching his arms. “Which it is. No one has summoned any tentacle monsters.” He smirks at Steve. “Yet.” 

Steve arches an eyebrow, amused. He peers into the water, into the bowl of stars. He wants to reach down and cup the constellations, but they can’t be kept. He wonders if some of the stars he remembers from the past’s night skies have winked out already. 

“I’ll see you in the morning, Tony,” Steve says. 

Tony looks at him. “You should come in,” he says, looking like he’s torn between wanting to convince Steve and wanting to not influence his decision. “Or are you going to sleep? I’m sure the Scarlet Witch has some effective sleeping draft, if you prefer that to… this.” 

Steve hesitates. Tony knows he won’t be sleeping. “I should prepare,” he says, but not with very compelling conviction. 

“She’s not saying we have nothing to do,” Tony says. “She’s saying we have to do nothing. I bet you hate that, don’t you.” 

“The world won’t end if we do nothing,” Steve says, standing out in the open. “Most people would like the sound of that.”

“Are you most people?” Tony asks. “Yeah, no, didn’t think so. I hate it too, we can split the hate. I’ll be generous.”

It’s always one thing or another. Usually, it’s tyranny being fought, not a ripping of reality. This would actually be the end. With no more people, no more battles to be fought, there will be no need for the Captain. And the world never really needed Steve Rogers. 

Tony seems—he seems to want Steve around. 

“Sharing is caring,” Steve says with a smile, which makes Tony laugh.

“You don’t have to come in. Just, if you want.” Tony smiles back, hopeful. And so… so fond that Steve’s mouth goes dry. Tony seems to have decided that he wants to convince Steve to join him. “Take a break, Steve. Breaks are good.”

“Unlike mages, I don’t need to recover after exertion, Tony,” Steve says, but his voice is hardly firm. “I’m fine.”

“But don’t you _want_ to rest a bit? Even without the Scarlet Witch insisting?” Tony plays with the water in front of him, raising a hand out of the spring. The bubbles slip out through his fingers, drift towards Steve. They pop when Steve pokes them. “I won’t tell.” 

Steve looks at Tony, who’s the complete picture of relaxation. Posturing or not, Steve wants his company. Steve wouldn’t have to be lonely to want to be with Tony, Tony just makes Steve more aware of his own solitude because Tony is just so… much.

Steve folds his casual clothes to the side, slips into the spring, doesn’t miss the inhale of breath beside him. 

“I don’t understand,” Steve says softly, after a while where they just chat about random things. “You have misplaced faith in me. You don’t need my belief in you. I don’t—I’m not all that great, Tony.” 

He doesn’t expect Tony to hone in on his words so doggedly. He should have. “What?” Tony looks at him. “What happened? Where’d your usual positive attitude go. Was it stolen by an emotion-selling pixie?” His lips quirk up, but the smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Because if so, I am so hiring whoever managed that.” 

Tony has so many different smiles, so many different ways of misdirection that he performs without needing magic. Steve feels glad that Tony trusts Steve with seeing those different facets. 

“I knew a pixie who was very good at that,” Steve says. “And at everything.” His eyes glaze over in reminiscence. “She loved magic.” 

“It is quite pretty,” Tony says. “Just like pixies, I do like pretty things.” He sends Steve a flirtatious look. 

Steve feels his face heat up. Tony’s interest is very distracting. He doesn’t do anything as obvious as clearing his throat, but he does duck his head for a moment. “She was very charming, but her love of magic was for the good it could bring,” he says, suddenly glad that Tony was not born during the Second Rune War. The Starks have never made many friends during wartime, and Steve made none out of it. “I think you’d have gotten along.” 

“I’m sure,” Tony says smoothly after a moment of silence, as if it’s not awkward at all. Not weird at all, for Steve to say this. “What afterlife do the pixies subscribe to? I’d love to get her contact.” 

Steve laughs with surprise. Even though there’s that lingering sadness that makes his heart ache whenever he allows himself to think of old, lost friends, he finds it’s easier to speak of the loss this time. Not that he’s spoken of it any other time. “She got lost during the Second Rune War. When I was there.”

Tony’s smile doesn’t quite falter, but something in his eyes does. They haven’t really spoken of the Second Rune War, named for the revolutionary use of runes. Revolutionary, well. That’s one way to say it. 

“Mixed in some interdimensional place,” Steve says, wondering if Tony knows of her sacrifice. Steve doubts it. History always seems to prefer Steve, prefer the one who they can point at and say, _look, I sacrificed some of my life to summon him._ “Closed the door on us before we could get to her.” 

It’s a delicate enough story. It occurs to Steve that probably no one can remember her because no one is taught about her in the first place. She wouldn’t be, not with the way pixies have been regarded as untrustworthy and whimsical for a very, very long time. 

And say what people may about memory, Steve knows that sometimes just because people forget why something happened in the first place, it doesn’t mean they won’t remember to keep the distrust. People make sides without knowing what they’re standing for. Without caring, sometimes. It’s supposed to matter more than that, isn’t it? 

“She was very brave,” Tony says, looking pensive, interested. There’s a trace of something bright in his eyes. “What was her name? Tell me about her.” 

“You… you want to listen?” Steve blinks, taken aback. A rush of emotion hits him, and his eyes sting a little. Nobody really asks Steve anything, they just tell him what to feel, what to believe, what to do. It was like that even before he became the Knight, when he was just a knight-in-training from a little county. 

He wanted something better than that. He didn’t know he could come close to having anything like this. 

“Did I get hit by a stuttering hex? I guess I could look her up in the libraries, I do have a portable eye, courtesy of Asgard.” Tony’s eyes shift away. “But that’s like reading about you. It’s not real like that.”

“And it’s real like this?” Steve asks. 

“You don’t think so?” 

“You don’t find this boring?”

“Boring?” Tony asks incredulously, looking at him. “Steve. No. Of course not. You’re… you’re not boring. And, I mean, retold history is kinda an illusion too.” He waves a hand, creating a false flame. “It looks warm, but…” he clasps his hand over Steve’s. Steve feels the magic from the illusion splash into his palm like flames, but his hand is cold. Tony’s hand is warm, though, and even with the hot spring around them, Steve feels him very strongly. The heat is nice. “It’s not really there, is it? The truth is always somewhere else. And I want to hear about you, too. From you.” 

“The truth is lost to time,” Steve says, looking at their hands. He can sense Tony’s magic. He wonders why Tony trusts him to not leech away all his magic right now. If Steve even accidentally loses control, he could seriously injure Tony. “Memory fades. Just like magic.”

“Not to the witnesses, and I’m pretty sure you don’t forget,” Tony says. “I mean. You, right? You were there. Your fancy ancient dragon armor reminds everyone, don’t worry.”

“I’m not a relic of the past, if that’s what you think,” Steve says quietly. “I understand. I feel like it.”

“I don’t think that!” Tony blinks at Steve. There’s a pause. “Okay, well, I used to? Just a little. I didn’t think the shield or any of the Knight summons was necessary. I just mean… you’re always pulled into the future. Every single time. It’s your time too. It _always_ is.”

“Until it isn’t?” Steve asks, then shakes his head. “My time is—it’s borrowed. Not mine,” he says, pulling his hand away from Tony’s. “I’m a man out of time. What I have, it’s all stolen. It’s their sacrifice. Fury is doing this because he feels he must. His life is being drained for my soul to be here.”

“Time was taken away from you, too,” Tony points out, frowning. “That’s not fair on yourself.”

“And you’re all about fairness,” Steve retorts. 

Tony curls his lips down, but he doesn’t look angry at Steve, more so frustrated by the situation. “That’s not fair on me,” he says. 

Steve takes a deep breath. “I’m—I’m sorry.”

“I’m sorry, too,” Tony says. 

Steve looks at him, surprised. “What?” 

“Do people not say that to you?” Tony asks. “Someone should.”

“There’s nothing to be sorry about,” Steve says. 

Tony exhales, a hint of magic in his breath, and they’re close enough that Steve feels intoxicated by Tony’s presence. 

“You ask me why I have faith in you, it’s because I know you can do it,” he says. “You’re stronger than some red mass of concentrated magic.”

Tony really means it. Steve smiles at him. Tony’s presence grounds Steve, too. Maybe Tony is like Steve’s Reality Stone, he makes Steve feel like he really could do anything. “Even though my shield is cracked,” he says. 

“I—uh. Yeah. I noticed.” 

“You don’t seem to be very curious about it. You ask about everything else.” 

“Well. I’m not after your shield, Steve,” Tony says, exasperated, fond. “You’re more than that.”

Steve looks at Tony, not really believing it, even though Tony isn’t lying. How is he supposed to? “The world needs the Captain,” Steve says quietly. It’s something he’s been told for a very long time. 

Tony shrugs. “I’m not saying stop being the fancy knight you are, though I wish you could get rid of the summon part,” he says. “That’s you, you know. You’re both Steve Rogers and the Captain. I’m not separating them. It’s like how the Iron Man and I are one. I can like you without having to choose—” Steve freezes up at those words, and Tony notices, of course he does. He swallows. “Okay, I. Did not mean that.”

Steve’s expression falls. He can’t manage a smile here, not anymore. “It’s just pretend,” Steve says. “I understand.”

“No, not that, either.” Tony mutters a curse. Nothing happens, and Steve realizes this is why Tony doesn’t use incantations. His Words don’t naturally hold magic. He’s worked around it, but he hasn’t worked around the promises he makes. 

Tony shifts around in the spring, maneuvering himself face to face with Steve. They’re so close now. “Do you want to… push me away? I totally understand if you do. I’m not exactly the best company for anyone, you deserve much more than this, and I’m not holding this against you, I wouldn’t hold anything against you. You should know the truth, that I want you, I—” 

“Tony,” Steve breathes, placing a hand around Tony’s neck, and pulls him in for a kiss, shivering when Tony gasps and touches Steve, fingers trailing downwards to Steve’s thighs. Tony tastes like what Steve never knew he could have, or even want. 

“Let’s get out of this spring and get a bed,” Tony suggests.

***

They check themselves into an inn and can barely keep their hands to themselves. The moment the door shuts, they surge towards each other.

“I’m so glad you’re not wearing your enchanted armor right now,” Tony says with a laugh against Steve’s mouth, and snaps his fingers. His suit slips away to the side and Steve’s clothes fall beside them neatly. 

“That’s convenient,” Steve says. “Do you think sex magic will work between us?” 

“Fuck, I sure hope so,” Tony says, and kisses him again. 

Steve moans, starving for it like people yearn for addictive ambrosia that stopped working on him ages ago. Each touch is electrifying and heated and Steve can’t quite help the sense of urgency that slips into each motion, driven by desperation. 

It’s just one night. Steve doesn’t have time for more than this, anyway. He doesn’t think he should. Once is enough. 

Once has to be enough.

He hasn’t _touched_ in so _long_ — 

Tony pushes Steve back onto the bed and straddles him. 

“What do you want,” Tony says breathily, “what can I do for you?” His eyes are hooded, blown dark with desire. He’s been worth the wait, a night with him is worth another forever, but they’re not going to get either of those. He kisses down Steve’s chest, dipping down until he reaches Steve’s stomach, teasingly low. He licks the inside of Steve’s thigh, making Steve gasp and moan his name. 

Steve feels his heart crack. Of course. Tony could just doing this because he knows Steve is lonely, and the thing is, he’d be right. But Steve has been lonely for a long time, this isn’t just that. This is the sense of finally being with someone he wants. This is him wanting a _together._ With Tony. 

(He knows this won’t last long, but when has anything ever?) 

“Steve?” Tony pulls back, eyes going blank for a moment. He doesn’t smile, he must see something in Steve’s expression, or maybe in the way tension doesn’t leave him when Tony touches Steve’s biceps, because concern pools in his gaze. “What’s wrong? Is it too fast? We can totally slow down.”

He looks so worried. Like he cares. 

That’s just the problem, isn’t it? It’d be easier if Steve could pretend Tony doesn’t, but he knows Tony too well already for him to believe that Tony is uncaring. 

Maybe it’s easier to pretend that Steve doesn’t care, so Steve shakes his head. “It’s nothing important,” he says. “You don’t have to do anything for me.” 

Tony blinks at Steve, eyes piercing, with that an intensity that makes Steve wonder if Tony has non-mortal blood in him too. There’s a terrifying gentleness in the way he captures Steve’s lips again, hands curling around Steve’s hips. 

But then he says, strong in a way only a mortal knows how to be, because a mortal knows how it feels if they aren’t heard in their brief lives, “I want to.” And then he says, awfully generous in a way only Tony thinks he must be, “Steve, if you don’t want this, know that I won’t let that change what we’ll do tomorrow. It’s not going to affect anything.” 

Oh. Yes. This won’t affect anything, not for Tony. Not really. It can’t. It shouldn’t. 

Tony’s lived so much of life, this is just going to be one more thing on the list of what he’s done. Steve doesn’t want to just be a name to Tony, but being more than that to him when Steve knows that it’s a one-way trip for Steve, it seems too cruel. 

Steve wonders after Tony’s mortal being dies, what immortal things he will leave created for the world. The thought isn’t like a knife through his heart. For that, it would hurt but he could pull the blade out and heal. Steve doesn’t want Tony gone. Why did Steve let his shield down? 

Now Steve actually has something to lose. 

“Of course it won’t,” Steve says, swallowing, cursing his thoughts, but he doesn’t have magic. Cursing his thoughts won’t make them really go away, it never did. 

Tony opens his mouth to promise something Steve doesn’t want to hear right now, maybe later, except that’ll be the later they won’t have, and Steve can’t let Tony promise something he’ll have to break. Steve catches the words in his mouth, kissing them away. Tony lets out a ragged moan and says, “Steve,” gently pushing against Steve’s chest. 

Steve pulls back, doesn’t meet Tony’s eyes, stares down at the captivating, glowing blue in the dark, where their breaths tangle together, and sense bends to desire. He thinks if he looks at Tony right now, he might break, might ask Tony for too much. 

“Look at me, Steve,” Tony says, a rasp, his hand coming around the back of Steve’s neck gently, soothingly, and Steve is messing everything up again, he has never been good with things like this, never been good at drawing lines. He doesn’t know what lines Tony wants to draw for him, doesn’t know why Tony wants to waste his time on history when he could be building more connections for the future. 

Steve looks at him, meets his gaze, sees the raw want and arousal there, sees the care. Tony looks like he wants to say something but doesn’t know what, words dying on his tongue, burning into ashes before he can let any fire out. 

Maybe he doesn’t want to burn Steve, maybe Steve doesn’t want to melt. 

“Tony… I want you too.” 

Tony exhales, smiles a little. It’s genuine, but a little too bright, a touch sad, and Steve’s heart skips at the sight of it. 

Steve leans up to taste the smoke. He slides his eyes shut, but he can still see the glow, still sense Tony’s magic flowing around them, embracing Steve. 

“You can touch it,” Tony murmurs against Steve’s lips. 

Steve opens his eyes. “Okay,” he says, sitting up, and brings his hand to Tony’s chest, carefully. He doesn’t want to hurt Tony, he knows his touch can be unpleasant for magic users. Cold, nullifying. He brushes the arc reactor, feels it pulse like a heartbeat. 

He makes Steve feel present. 

His magic flares, his arc reactor glowing pleasantly. Warm but not overwhelming, something comfortable but electric at the same time, something that’s feels so alive, both impossibly raw and sharply refined. A breath of fresh air, a hum that’s constant but never falls into the background into nothingness. 

Tony shivers. “Oh,” he says shakily. He sees Steve’s face and quickly smiles, “No, it’s fine, it’s just different. People usually… don't touch it. Can’t. It’s too much.” 

(For them or for Tony?) 

“Different good, or different bad?” Steve asks. 

“Good,” Tony laughs. “Good, believe me.” He leans down to suck in Steve’s nipple, eliciting a groan from how sensitive he feels. “Now let me make you feel good,” he says in a low voice. “I can do that, I’m good at that.” 

Steve nods, moaning when Tony reaches for Steve’s cock and starts to stroke him with clever fingers. “Tony,” Steve gasps, running a hand down Tony’s back. He thinks he might accidentally have taken in some of Tony’s magic because he feels a thrill of familiar power jolt through him, liquid, his nerves sinking down into an intoxicating heat, the ice in his veins replaced by fire. 

“Oh fuck.” Tony‘s breath hitches and he shivers. “Okay, that’s a thing, I guess, I can feel my magic in you. Gods, Steve, you’re so—” He bites on his lip and throws his head back, eyes shuttering for a moment. When he opens them, they flicker blue with his mana for a moment before it fades. He looks at Steve seductively. “Do you want to fuck me?” 

Steve’s throbbing with arousal. He nods. “ _Please_.” 

Tony grins. “So polite,” he says teasingly. 

“I want to fuck you,” Steve says, eyes intense, voice—he sounds wrecked, even to himself. 

The sound Tony makes is a mix between a groan and a laugh. “Steve, that’s the best thing I’ve ever heard,” he says, looking incredibly turned-on, and that’s because of Steve. He wants Steve, so badly that his cock is hard, dripping with precum between them when he kisses Steve again, their tongues tangling together, hot and filthy and full of want. Steve grinds against Tony, searching for friction, which makes them both moan. 

“Okay,” Tony says when he pulls back and shifts back and down, mouth at Steve’s crotch, hands on Steve’s hips. “Okay. Let’s hope this works, hmm?” 

“What are you—oh, _Tony_.” 

Tony opens his mouth and takes in his cock, sucking thoroughly, each bob of his head going further. He looks debauched, wanton, making hungry noises. The wet heat makes Steve shake with pleasure. Steve feels another wisp of heady magic flow through him. Tony looks so focused, like he wants only to make Steve feel good, and he does. Pleasure sings through his body and his mind. 

“That feels so good,” Steve says, dazed, breathing heavily, knuckles going white around the sheets. “You’re so good, Tony.” 

Tony whimpers around Steve’s cock. He finally pulls off with an obscene, slick pop. Steve’s wet with Tony’s saliva and some kind of smooth, warmth lubricant. “Okay, you gotta get inside me now. Come on, I’m ready for you already. Magic.” 

“Magic,” Steve says, a little awed, and brushes Tony’s lips with his thumb, caresses his cheek. 

Tony’s eyes flutter shut for a moment as he leans into Steve’s hand. “Has to be good for something, right?” he murmurs, and smiles at Steve. 

Steve beams back and kisses him, maneuvering them so he’s positioned above Tony. 

Tony spreads his legs for Steve, moaning when Steve slides into him. Steve stifles a cry, he hasn’t felt anything so good before. Tony is tight and wet and perfect, and Steve thinks he might cry. He shudders, remains silent. 

“Move whenever,” Tony says shakily but gently, fingers carding through Steve’s hair. “Take your time. It’s okay. You're okay.” 

Steve swallows, blinking. “Okay,” he says hoarsely, remembering this feeling of being inside Tony to the hilt. When he starts to thrust, he lets out a moan, mixing with Tony’s panting. He moves, in and out with the urgency of the starved, the ones who have a countdown to their lives. Tony whimpers, Steve fucking him hard but careful to not make Tony hurt. He feels like this where he belongs, and there might be a name for this, but Steve can’t say it, he just whispers _Tony_. 

Tony comes first, streaks of hot white spilling between them, but he tugs Steve back in with his legs. “Come inside me,” he says, a beg and an order, and magic has never felt so powerful, so deep, so safe. 

Steve thrusts deep a few more times until he fills Tony up, making them both gasp and shiver. His nerves are pleasantly warm, his mind comfortable as it has never quite been before. 

Steve pulls out and kisses Tony, sighing into him. Tony kisses back languidly, like they have all the time in the world. 

It’s so much. It’s not enough. 

Steve closes his eyes and just wants this perfect dream to last.

***

They spend the day together, in bed and out of it, enjoying what they can of the festival and of each other, and Steve knows that if he had the choice between another forever and another day with Tony, he’d choose Tony. But there’s no such choice, and soon, too soon, they stand before the forest again.

The grass frosts over, turning brittle and fragile when Steve steps into the forest. Steve looks up as snow starts to fall again. It’s weaker than before, faint, far from a storm, but it’s still there. 

“Holy shit,” Tony says, realization dawning. “You’re—the snow. It’s you, isn’t it? You’re basically Thor two point oh. I thought it was actually snowing in Sokovia.” 

“It probably was also actually snowing,” Steve says. “I don’t mean to trespass on the authority of any weather gods. I—I’d stop it if I could.” 

“I think they’ll forgive you. Not that they could do much to you.” 

Steve’s thoughts go unbidden towards a terrible idea. Fear grips him tightly. What if—what if someone uses Tony against Steve, what if they try to hurt Tony to get to Steve? It’s irrational. He knows it won’t come to that. 

“Not physically, anyway,” Tony says. “So. Why didn’t you say so?”

“Telling you wouldn’t have stopped the snow. Also, I may have forgotten,” he admits. 

“You forgot,” Tony says, amused. Pleased. “I’m glad to hear that I was a good distraction. It’s okay to be scared of the cold. I’m not—not judging, seriously, I’d be the last person to play judge.” He bumps his shoulder against Steve’s. “Look, I don’t… I don’t offer something unless I want it too.” He looks vaguely alarmed by what he said. Steve’s heart beats a little faster, and his smile feels too honest, too open. Tony licks his lips, eyes flickering down and back up. ”Since it’s honestly hour, why not, right. I like your company.” 

“Really,” Steve says, smile warming, and he can’t keep these words in. “I like your company too, Tony.”

Tony’s eyes are bright. He coughs a little. “Yeah?” he asks, briefly forgetting to cover it up with an _I know, I’m all charm_. Seems like it really is honesty hour. 

Steve wonders if it’s because one of them wished for honesty. 

(Which one?) 

“You catching a cold there?” Steve asks. 

“Hey, that’s on you,” Tony says, “you owe me at least a drink and a dragon scale for that.” He flutters his fingertips over Steve’s armor. 

“After this is all sorted, I’ll find you a dragon, Tony,” Steve says, even as the words weigh on his chest heavily, and he feels the energy Tony leaves long after Tony withdraws his hand. 

“You’re kidding,” Tony says. Then, “You’re kidding! Shit. Are they not extinct?”

Steve shrugs and smiles. “Oooh. Are they?” 

Tony laughs, a clear sound. His eyes catch the colors of the sunset, beautiful. Steve sighs. There won’t be enough for this yearning to really settle in. He wishes there were. 

An adventure with Tony. That would be nice. Seeing Tony getting excited about things, joining him… 

“Tell me about it after we save the world,” Tony says. 

Steve kisses him so he won’t see Steve’s eyes gleam a touch too brightly, too blue. 

It’d really have been nice.

***

In the end, Steve doesn’t want to see Tony’s expression when he deals with the Reality Stone.

In the end, Steve tries to get Tony to clear the area. He knows it won’t work, because Tony is Tony, stubborn like Steve, stubborn when it matters. And it always matters to them. 

“I’m not your Knight, you can’t order me,” Tony says. “Steve, you can’t order me to let you do this alone.” 

“I’m asking you to leave,” Steve says. Please. “You can come back once I’ve nullified the Aether.”

“I can take it. You don’t have to do this alone,” Tony says, echoing Steve’s words from so long ago. 

Steve looks at the swirling red, at the pure darkness in the Rift, an abyss that will suck in Tony and reality with him if Steve fails. “I need to,” Steve says. 

“What happened to together?” Tony sounds betrayed, and Steve wants to punch whoever made him feel like that. It’s himself. “Why do you want me gone?”

 _I don’t,_ Steve thinks desperately. _I don’t._

“Be safe, Tony,” Steve says, exhaling. He takes a step closer to the swirling red and it flares, reaching out, trying to latch onto Steve. Steve locks his jaw. 

The magic tries to devour him, hissing and growling. He grabs at it with his bare hand, and the Aether jerks away with a haunting scream. 

Steve looks at his hand, his body. The world around him flickers, and he flickers, too. The Aether hasn’t decided which will win the future yet. The dream or the reality, and Steve’s not sure if he is a dream or reality, but he knows that Tony’s world is real. 

The vibranium has cracked before, a long time ago, when he fought Bucky the first time around, when they’d (inevitably) been summoned on different sides. 

He didn’t think it could break like this though. It’s supposed to be stronger than this. Does Steve not—does he not want to be a summon enough? Is that why the function has been failing the past century or two? 

A few days (yearscenturieslives) ago, if a situation like this happened, he might be thinking that maybe it’s long past the time for the shield to break, for his contract to fail, for the world to learn how to fend for itself. He might be thinking that the world shouldn’t need the Captain anymore. It always does, though, and that’s what Steve has realized. The truth of it just hasn’t ever hurt this bad before. 

The Captain needs to live, but… 

Steve doesn’t want to die. 

“Fuck, what was that,” Tony says. “Steve, what’s happening to you,” he asks, terror closing around his voice, making it hoarse with urgency. “You, your hand—”

Damn it. Tony saw. “I’m fine,” Steve lies, the words heavy and his chest hurts, even when it shouldn’t, even when he’s really just a summon. 

(He’s not just that.) 

“You’re clearly not fucking fine, Steve,” Tony snaps. 

It could be worse. He might have never met Tony. By the Gods, if Steve hadn’t been summoned, or if…

They might have never met. That would’ve been so easy. Steve imagines that, imagines waking up after Tony’s life. Imagines wandering. It’s easy to imagine that, and it makes Steve’s heart break to know that Tony’s going to have to wake up after Steve’s death. Wonders if Tony would hear the call of Steve’s soul.

Steve hopes they would’ve met, one way or another. Everything can’t hinge on chance like this, but fate, that has to be real. Steve can’t bear the thought of them not meeting in any universe. 

Steve takes a deep, steadying breath. Tony will be fine. He’s seen and created more of this world than Steve can imagine. Steve’s job right now is to keep it standing. 

Steve smiles at Tony, hoping it will give them both strength. “The future is going to be a good place, with you,” he says. 

“You’re supposed to be there too!” Tony’s mask drops down, which isn’t wise, because Tony isn’t immune to the raw mana in the air right now that the Aether is messing the world up. Human skin is prone to being hurt by it, and Tony is very human. 

Steve’s not. 

Dragon blood runs in his veins. He’s all the antimagic of a great dragon, amplified by magic that shouldn’t be, and he has none of a dragon’s weakness. 

Steve has all of a human’s weakness, though. He looks at Tony, who looks back with wide, wet eyes, and he’s absolutely breathtaking, stunning. It hurts, even though it makes him stronger than he’s ever felt. 

“I can fix this,” Steve says, and throws his shield into the rift, the magic ripping into it, and then the Aether seems to be cancelled out by something equally powerful. 

The shield melts away, revealing a single orange stone.

***

In the end, Tony can do nothing except this, watching helplessly as a shade steps out of the Rift, taking what remains of it with him, a red star on his arm—vibranium, Tony’s mind whispers, screams, it’s just like Steve’s shield, the shield that’s broken and gone and what the _fuck_ —

In the end, Tony can do everything except this, except save Steve, because his magic is too unstable, too broken, and he should’ve spent more time trying to fix that damn shield. 

(Would it have mattered if Steve would’ve shattered it now anyway?)

“Bucky,” Steve says. 

The spirit smiles at Steve, except Tony supposes spirit isn’t exactly accurate. 

“Hi Steve,” Bucky says, and there’s a certain softness to his voice that suggests he doesn’t want to do this, but he stands in front of Steve anyway. “You should’ve left. I warned you.” 

“When have I ever backed down?” Steve asks. 

Tony feels a fierce sort of adoration, even as his insides twist with _no no no_. 

“You would’ve been fine, Steve.” 

The Infinity Stones. Not exactly stones, are they? 

“I wouldn’t have been fine,” Steve says quietly. He looks back at Tony for a moment, looking so sorry. “I have a reason to side with reality, and not the dream the rune wants you to make real. Who’s making you do this, Bucky?” 

Tony wants to yell at him that it’s okay. Tony wants to yell at him that it’s not. But clearly Steve didn't want to hear either option, and Tony doesn’t want to find out if either option would taste like a lie. 

“You have more control. You always get to know who summoned you, Steve. That itself is the price you pay,” Bucky says. “I don’t.” He shrugs, a trace of pain and guilt in his eyes, and Tony watches as Steve’s face contorts with pain and regret. 

Tony wills his armor to come back around him when Bucky changes his stance and attacks, and Steve catches his blows, each hit sparking red and orange in the white backdrop, the colors clashing violently. Steve moves so fast, so amazingly fluidly, each motion so heavy that Tony can sense the impact reverberating in his core. But with each time they cross, they seem to flicker out of existence. 

This is the only opening they have. With the Aether preoccupied, he can tamper with the Rift. Undo the rune. Tony takes a deep breath, mana hammering in his chest, and puts his hand through the Rift, closing his eyes and reaching for the rune. 

Sorcerers all have some sort of anchor. Tony’s had to build his own. His arc reactor burns in his chest, and he can barely breathe as he reverses the effects of the rune, undoing it out of existence. 

In the end, Steve and someone who appears to be an old friend from eons ago fight, but it’s not much of a fight. 

In the end (what?), Tony undoes the rune and both of the stones vanish—except that was the whole point of all this, wasn’t it? 

It wasn’t supposed to be the end.

***

Sokovia has even more reason to hate him now, which is just dandy. Tony’s going to join the club of the exiled and the banned. Maybe he can become an honorary Asgardian, since they’re fond of banishment like it’s some sort of kink.

Wanda assures Tony it’ll be fine, which shows how not fine everything is, if Wanda Maximoff of all people is telling him that and handing him a ghost-whisperer. 

Tony’s supposed to be the mortal one, he’s not supposed to have to deal with Steve’s death. 

“Ser Romanoff,” Tony says. “Fancy seeing you here.” 

“I’m sorry,” Natasha says.

Tony can’t take his gaze off where the Rift used to be, can’t look away from where Steve is supposed to be, can’t stop scanning the area where there is now _nothing_. The traces of red and orange in the air shimmer away like stardust. 

The weather is clear. The skies are blue, stretching on endlessly, past the mountains. There’s a fluffy cloud in the distance. 

It’s a nightmare. 

The Rift is closed, but still his nightmare has come true. 

“It’s not like you didn’t know that something would go wrong,” Tony says flatly, looking towards Natasha. “You knew I hadn’t been able to fix the shield when I gave it to you.” 

And they still summoned him. 

_Weak._

(Who?) 

“We needed him,” Natasha says. 

(So does Tony.)

“You didn’t need him for decades,” Tony says. His lips curve down as he thinks about all the time he had with the shield his father had given him, all the time he didn’t summon Steve even as he tried to fix the fracture. “I—I didn’t need him for my entire life.” 

The anger inside him keeps melting back into grief, searing loss of what they could’ve had together. Is this what Steve felt like every single time, when he woke up to a different world? To a world that never changed the way he wanted it to, that never kept anything for him?

Tony hates this. He wants to snap the flower in half. Wants the petals gone, gone with the snow that’s not here anymore. 

Natasha’s expression twists into something a little too kind, too much like sympathy for Tony to be comfortable. Tony wants to turn away, feeling vulnerable. This isn’t the time for him to be in the vicinity of a SHIELD spy. It’s never really the time, and right now he’s just. He’s.

Grief hollows him out. 

He doesn’t want this. It’s not fair, Steve should still be here. But pain and death don’t have to be fair or right or make any sense. Sometimes it just fucking sucks. 

“You’re not the only one haunted by ghosts who aren’t dead,” Natasha says. 

“Steve feels pretty dead,” Tony says. Steve deserves to experience so much more of the world that he saves again and again. Tony wants to see his smile again, wants it to chase away the deep sadness that always seems to linger in his gaze, wants to—

He shudders. 

Natasha puts a hand on Tony’s shoulder. Tony tenses. “At least you got to see him die.” Her eyes are intense. It feels like she’s trying to say something true, say something because she actually means it for once in her life. She really sucks at telling the truth, if that’s the case. “It’s a better fate for them than to be living ghosts.” 

Tony looks up at Natasha, struggling to feel surprised, but somehow isn’t. “What, you and that Bucky have a long and sordid history?” 

Natasha’s lips curve up, and Tony thinks they’re painted as red as the Aether. “I wouldn’t say long.” 

She pats Tony’s back once and moves away, like that much human contact is too uncomfortable. Tony agrees. But it wasn’t so bad. 

Worse has happened, after all. 

The worst.

***

He tries to brush the snow off him but it doesn’t leave. The ice prickles, stings like it’s beneath his skin. The snowstorm howls.

Shadows drape on him. He’s lost. Where did he come from? Where is he going? 

It’s so cold.

He wonders if he is made of snow.

He used to be made of something else. It’s always something else, not himself. What is he?

_Steve?_

He looks around. In the distance, there’s a light source. A blue fire. Warmth. He moves towards it even as the gale tries to blow him away. 

_Steve… I don’t know if you can hear me—this is stupid, I don’t subscribe to a flowery afterlife. Who knows if you’re even dead. But it’s worth a try. It’s been a few months since you died—I say, as if I haven’t been counting the days._

A laugh echoes through the world, shaking it. Steve, he’s Steve. He doesn’t want to hear that laugh, it doesn’t mask the hurt in that voice. It sounds like it’s supposed to fix what’s broken but it can’t. 

_I hope you’re at peace right now, but honestly, I just. Why? Why... I want you back. I need you to stay, Steve. You wanted to stay, didn’t you?_

Steve finds himself drawn to the fire, following the voice. It’s like he’s being summoned, but he has a choice in where he wants to go. 

He could stay here. It would be easier to lie down, close his eyes. Sleep without intending to wake up. 

_I miss you so bad. Come back, Steve._

“Tony…” Steve reaches out to touch the fire. The world explodes with color and warmth.

***

Steve opens his eyes and finds himself transported to a room. It must be Tony’s, the signature around is so familiar, so welcoming. He hasn’t been here before, but he feels a sense of belonging.

“What!” Tony says, jumping backwards, dropping the flower he was holding to his lips. His hair is a mess, he looks like he hasn’t been sleeping well. 

“Why do you never use that sleeping draft you have?” Steve asks. “I’m going to start thinking they’re poisoned.” 

“Poisoned—what are you talking about? Steve. Oh gods. Steve. You. What.” Tony closes the distance between them. “What the Hel were you thinking?”

Steve catches him by the arms as Tony runs his hands over Steve’s naked chest. His touch is much gentler than his voice, which is hoarse and sharp. “Hey, Tony,” Steve says. 

Tony pulls Steve in for a kiss, fierce and desperate like he’s afraid Steve might vanish again. 

“Damn it, Steve,” Tony breathes. “What happened?” 

“The stones’ power, they cancelled each other out. I’m not sure how I’m… still alive,” Steve says. “I heard your voice.” 

“Yeah.” Tony takes a deep breath. “Did you hear me ask you why?” 

“I did it to save everyone,” Steve says, instead of saying _I did it to save you_ , because he can’t bear the thought of letting Tony know how selfish Steve can be. Steve just wants—he just wants. 

“Yeah, of course you did,” Tony says. “It’s always for the world.” The bitterness in Tony’s voice hurts because Steve knows it’s a double-edged sword, and Tony bleeds, even behind all his shiny armor. He’s just as vulnerable as Steve pretends not to be. 

There’s no ice to shield Steve’s heart now, nothing to prevent him from feeling all the emotions he’s been trying to hold back. He feels mortality in him—he feels reality in him. He’s just as alive and real as any of them. Just like Tony. 

“I had to do it,” Steve says. He needs Tony to know this, at least. “I had to.” 

“I get it. I know.” Tony sighs and nods, half to himself. “But you could have told me,” he says. “What you were going to do. That was an option. I mean, did that not seem like an option to you?” Uncertainty bleeds into his voice, makes it quieter. “Telling me things?”

So many reasons, excuses, fade out of existence. It always matters, for them, but sometimes it doesn’t matter what the reason is. “I’m sorry,” Steve says. 

“I know, I’m not great at making decisions. But you shouldn’t speak, you’re not that great at it either, Steve Rogers. I know it’s stupid to want you to care about me,” he continues. “But you can trust me. I wouldn’t have done anything stupid.” 

“What?” Why is Tony saying that? Steve stares. “Of course I care about you too,” he says disbelievingly. 

“Yeah, I know it’s unfair of me, we've only known—what,” Tony says. “What?”

“Tony. I care. Not just about everyone,” Steve says. “I didn’t… didn’t just do it for everyone. I did it for you, otherwise it would’ve—it would’ve taken you too.”

“Oh.”

“Tony, I didn’t want you to. To.” His words choke him. 

“To what?” Tony asks. “To what, Steve?” His words are fierce, and Steve hasn’t felt this kind of anger directed at him before, and it melts him. 

This isn’t anger. 

And what Steve feels—it’s not anger, either. It’s something that takes his breath away, but lets him breathe at the same time. It’s someone. It’s Tony. 

“I didn’t want you to feel what it’s like to lose your world,” Steve says. 

“Oh gods, Steve. This world is yours, too.” Tony’s eyes soften and he pulls Steve in for a hug, and Steve buries his head into the crook of Tony’s neck, breathing in the familiar scent, feeling the comfortable warmth. “You know, it felt like I did,” Tony says, voice cracking. “I thought you died.” 

“No, I’m here,” Steve whispers, smiling. This is what it’s like to gain a world. A future. A home. “I think I finally woke up.”


End file.
